


The Dark, The Good, The Bad, The Smutty

by Bre



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Action, Angst, Comedy, Crossover, Dark, F/M, Ficlet, Horror, Humor, Silly, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bre/pseuds/Bre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ficlet here. A ficlet there. Ficlets everywhere... Exploring certain aspects of Buffy and Dean's relationship in various ways, circumstances, universes, realities, etc via the 100 prompts from 50 Smutlets. Will eventually include multiple (sub)plots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Damn Damned

Damn Damned

by Bre

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or parts of this storyline. They belong to the brains of The Whedon and The Kripke.  
Rating: M/FR21  
Feedback: Always appreciated! :)  
Author's Notes: A lovely little LJ community (50_Smutlets) that hasn't been active for a long time has awesome prompts. 100 of them. 'Nuff said. So, I'll be writing smutty ficlets based on those prompts because, IMO, sex can get in the way of my other stories because I have a tendency to go overboard. So when Buffy and Dean start doing something that doesn't help the plot in any way, I'll post something smutty to get it out of my system. I literally can't stop writing Buffy/Dean fics so I apologize to those who are damn sick of seeing me. :P  
Author's Notes 2: All Buffy/Dean and anything and everything is open to fair game (i.e. timeline, alternate 'verses and realities, OCC-tendencies, etc). I don't want to flood the boards so I'll be posting this as one story but each ficlet will stand alone unless otherwise noted (i.e. some might be sequels, some might be prequels, some might continue from previous ficlets... etc). So, eventually, a plot might or will start appearing. Some will be dark, some will be light and fluffy, some will be disturbing… all open game. I will post warnings if a ficlet is dark. Starting out light with this one...  
Author's Notes 3: This ficlet is a very belated birthday gift to queenofcamelot. I promise smut, I deliver some smut.

Author's Notes 4: For the sake of this story, Buffy was just a Potential, never called in L.A., never made it to Sunnydale, and Sam and Dean knew Ellen when John was still alive. Set in SPN S2 somewhere.

Prompt: 47 Rushed

Summary: A busy night at Harvelle's leads to a cranky Buffy and she only gets crankier when more people arrive...

*

"Anne, honey, can you go get another case of beer? These boys are thirsty tonight."

"Yeah," Buffy Summers replied distractedly, her nose full of the nasty, moldy smell that was her dishrag as she sopped up the remnants of one of those precious beers. She glared at the three men standing on the other side of the bar, her eyes drilling into the asshole who had an elbow the size of an elephant's ass and who had no idea how to walk around without knocking crap over. They barely acknowledged her except for a smarmy wink before turning back to talking about Chisnas.

Chisnas. Ugly, hairy and far too much like walking hyenas for her tastes.

She heard Ellen walking back behind her, grabbing a bottle from the row of liquor along the back wall, her mouth strangled together in a tight smile as she whipped back to making drinks.

Harvelle's was unnaturally freaking busy that night. It was like a hunter's reunion or something because it seemed every single damn hunter that had ever hunted anything ever was in that bar. Drinking, yelling, sitting and talking about the "good ol' days" or "this one hunt" or playing poker or cleaning guns or just sitting in a corner, smoking some cigar that smelled like a rat's asshole...

This was not a good night to be a waitress to hunters. For some reason, the more that gathered, the more obnoxious they allowed themselves to get. Like a bunch of frat boys who really loved drinking and really loved throwing their dicks on the table to see who had a better story about killing vampires or collecting a werewolf's teeth.

And ever since Jo had taken off, it had just been that much more fun. And that sure didn't include Ellen's crappy attitude that was slowly - slowly but surely - starting to thaw the longer Jo stayed away, like she was finally coming to terms or something. Ha.

Yeah right, people don't just get over loved ones disappearing, running away, turning away, dodging out, dying... that whole circle of life thing was complete crap.

"Anne!"

"I'm going!" she said back loudly, her voice carrying across the bar as she wiped the tendrils falling from her ponytail off her sweaty neck, heading towards the back. She didn't miss the lewd glance she received from one not-such-a-gentleman wearing what probably used to be a baseball cap and she raised an eyebrow at him, not in the mood to play along. They all knew better than to start anything with her but that didn't mean she escaped completely.

She knew what she looked like and they all knew pretty damn well what she did when she wasn't working at the bar and what she was capable of and, for a hunter, that was apparently one hell of a turn on. Being an ex-Slayer potential who has been training for the day that would never come since she was 16 kind of did that. Having trained constantly and somehow falling into a hunter-esque lifestyle for the last 10 years?

Gave her a little edge.

Normally, the flirting was the fun part, talking them into playing some poker, into trying a hand at some arm wrestling, some pool... all with the interest of making a little extra cash on the side. But tonight? Tonight she was tired, cranky and she wanted nothing to do with anything. She wanted to go home, ignore Merrick and just go to sleep.

Her hand grazed the slightly sticky door that would lead back to the supply room when she heard the front door of the bar bang open and she glanced over her shoulder to see what other jerk was walking in when she felt her mouth go dry, her heart stop and a thousand and one butterflies suddenly attack her stomach so viciously, her arms felt weak from the rush of adrenaline.

Dean and Sam Winchester walked in, their faces tight as they nodded at a few people before grabbing two empty seats at the bar. She saw more than heard Ellen talking to them as she melted into the shadows by the door, peeking around a corner to get a look at him.

It had been exactly three months, two weeks and one day since she saw him last and... and somehow the guy had gotten hotter. He looked shaggier, more tired and she noticed he was wearing a different leather jacket this time. No longer his father's jacket...

"Is Ash here?" she heard Dean ask and Buffy frowned, clenching her jaw before biting her lip and rolling her eyes at herself. She didn't like the way the butterflies that had started swarming inside her suddenly rolled into a gigantic butterfly ball that started thumping inside her chest as she watched him look around the bar, his eyes tense but curious and she realized she had hoped he was looking for her.

Which he obviously wasn't, she realized sourly.

"Whatcha need with Ash, sweetie?" Ellen replied and Buffy rolled her shoulders, ducking her head before turning swiftly and banging through the door into the nice, cool storage area. The stale but entirely cool air hit her sweaty skin, making her shiver a bit as she headed to the corner to grab one of the crates they kept there for easy reach from the basement.

She knew the irrational anger and annoyance that had replaced the rush of anticipation was... well, it was irrational. But she also found she didn't care. She was in a crappy mood so why not spread the crappy mood?

And she sure as hell was not in the mood for any crap tonight. Dean Winchester had chosen the wrong night to walk into Harvelle's and she would be damned if she would let that jerk get to her.

She would be damn... damned.

Buffy didn't realize she was manhandling the stupid wooden crates until one bit her in the finger, a large splinter stabbing right into her middle finger and she hissed, cradling her hand.

"Real smooth, Summers," she whispered to herself, sucking her finger into her mouth before tilting her head to get a better look in the dim light. It was big. And it was angry and her skin was already swelling and she shook it out before bending over to check which beer she was grabbing.

No, full up on that one. The one she needed, she saw, was on a shelf against the wall. Of course the guys in the bar liked to drink the one that was entirely inaccessible to her. How generous of them to turn her crappy night into a full-blown... crappier night.

"Come on," she groaned, reaching up just enough to graze the crate with her fingertips and she braced her upper body as she inched it out, waiting for the heavy weight of the bottles inside to fall into her hands when she felt someone behind her and then a hard, chilled chest pressed against her back, hands reaching above her head to grab the case for her and before she could get a word in, he was pressing the crate back into its spot as his body pressed her tightly against the shelf.

Buffy let out a gasp, his hands suddenly holding her hands in place above their heads as he ground his hips against hers, the heavy bulge in his pants fitting perfectly against her ass and she absently thought how great it was that she had chosen that skirt that was so thin, it was tissue paper. Well, it was damn summer and it got hot in that stupid bar and...

His hot breath tickled her ear as her breasts pressed painfully against the shelf and she closed her eyes, the cool air in the storage space instantly feeling like a sauna as his hands covered hers before dragging down her arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps. They grazed her shoulders as her heart rate picked up quickly, her body becoming super intensely aware of every single millimeter of her skin being touched as his hands pressed against her, following her curves.

Buffy's mouth gaped open, her breathing getting heavy as one arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her tightly against his body as the other dipped down, touching her bare thigh before moving up, underneath her skirt. She could have sworn her skin was already as hot as it could get inside the hot bar but his hands felt hotter on her, his palms like fire as he moved up swiftly, his fingers grazing the edge of her thong.

"Did you miss me?" she heard him mumble behind her, his face in her hair, breathing her in and she shivered against him, his fingers dancing along the surface of her panties, grazing her where she already felt wetness pooling as he pulled her tighter against him.

"No," she breathed in response with a lilt of amusement and she felt his head duck down, his stubble scratching her as he leaned down, his lips on the back of her neck. They felt dry and hot and his breath felt cool and painful as the two collided and she stiffened against him as he dragged his face up along the column of her neck, making her shiver with a mixture of pleasure and pain before his lips found her ear.

"Liar," he said, his voice gravely. His fingers pressed hard against her mound, causing Buffy to open her mouth in a cry. He moved swiftly, pressing his hand against her mouth as he rubbed her clit through the material, her juices already wetting everything, making everything feel silky as he moved quickly, his tongue caressing her ear as he worked her.

His fingers smelled like dirt and car oil, like gunpowder and beer... all Dean and she inhaled sharply as he moved his fingers underneath the material. She felt her fingers aching with the pressure with which she was holding onto the shelf and she thrust her hips back, rubbing herself against him. He grunted as he leaned into her, his hips moving to meet her, pressing her further against the shelves as his fingers played with her wet clit as he rubbed himself against her ass cheeks.

She gasped his name against his hand, her cries muffled by his fingers as he rubbed her clit faster, her orgasm building, her body tightening. Thrusting against his hand, Buffy felt ready to explode when his hand suddenly disappeared, her body left thrumming with the need for release. She closed her eyes at the loss, groaning his name and she vaguely felt him moving as she fought through the fog in her brain, heard his zipper, felt his hands before he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her.

Buffy let out a squeak of surprise as he turned her, pressing her against what used to be a workbench, his hands on her hips as he shoved her skirt up. His finger grabbed the flimsy material of her thong, lifting it out of the way, not bothering with pleasantries like actually removing it before pushing her farther down and she felt him pressing against her entrance, teasing her slightly and she moved to brace herself on her elbows, about to turn and tell him to move his ass when he thrust into her.

Buffy's back arched in response, his hand still on her back as he moved it up along her spine before gripping her shoulder, pulling out and thrusting back in just as quickly, just as harshly. And it felt amazing as he started a rough rhythm, pressing her against the workbench with intensity, her hips digging into the smooth wood as her fingers clawed at it.

"Dean," she whimpered as quietly as she could, gritting her teeth to keep her mouth shut, remembering where they were. They were in the back of Harvelle's, outside a room full of hunters, where anyone could walk in and catch them. It made everything hotter, more erotic, and the thought alone of having to hurry, having to rush in case someone wanted to come back there had Buffy gasping out her pleasure, her eyes on the door, on the bright light illuminating it, knowing that so many people were right there while Dean took her back here.

The sound of her name falling from Dean's lips made Buffy's limbs tingle and she felt herself building, her pleasure mounting, the sound of his skin slapping hers filling the room, his pace quickening. And then he pulled her off the bench slightly, his pace not relenting as he shoved his fingers inside her panties again, his fingers finding her hard clit, so ready, so tender...

"Oh god, oh god," she gasped, her hips taking on a life of their own as she thrust back against him, his fingers rubbing as he slammed into her, going deeper, and she felt everything getting hot, tight, bright...

Buffy came hard, her hips moving frantically against him, her body exploding as she let out a loud cry before digging her face into the workbench. Her body jerked with each wave, every inch of her feeling electrified and it felt like he was touching her everywhere, setting her skin on fire.

She felt Dean's hands on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he thrust into her and Buffy couldn't help the moans falling from her throat as he thrust into her one last time, burying himself, coming with a loud groan.

Buffy forgot how to breathe. Breathing was suddenly very hard as he relaxed behind her, his hands moving up her back, making her shiver, making her bite her lip as he slipped out of her. But he didn't go anywhere. Instead, he leaned forward, draping himself across her back and she felt a light kiss on her shoulder. She let out a content sigh.

She didn't even feel his hand moving until he snapped her thong back in place and she jumped at the sharp pain.

"Hey," she said in protest and he chuckled, his hand massaging her ass cheek before slipping around to touch her through her panties again and she jerked against his hand.

"Just something for you to remember me by until I get your little ass into a proper bed," he said with far too much amusement and mockery. "Since you didn't miss me or anything."

Buffy giggled as he stood and she turned slowly, lazily, her skirt falling back down as he pulled his pants up. She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to her.

"Nope," she said, smiling up at him, grazing his lips with her own. "Didn't you miss you at all."

Dean snorted against her lips, pulling her in, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She responded just as eagerly, wrapping her arms around him. She breathed him in, tasting him, tasting the beer he had had before finding her...

"And next time," he continued, zipping his pants as Buffy pushed her skirt back down. He backed up. "I'm not telling you when I'm coming back. That's just not fair."

"Fair shcmair," Buffy replied, pulling her hair down to put it back up since it felt like she had rolled around on the floor instead of having seriously hot sex in the back of the bar where she worked. She blushed, watching Dean lick his lips as he watched before he glanced back at the shelf.

"Now, which one were you getting so it doesn't look like I just came back here to molest the hell out of you..."

The End


	2. Roger and Jessica

Roger and Jessica

by Bre

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or parts of this storyline. They belong to the brains of The Whedon and The Kripke.  
Rating: M/FR21  
Feedback: Always appreciated! :)  
Author’s Notes: See “Damn Damned” for additional notes on this smutty series of ficlets.  
Author’s Notes 2: **Thank you** for the excellent response to the last installment! The reviews, follows and favorites really make my day! And I can’t lie, the more reviews from everyone telling me their thoughts just makes me want to write quicker! Especially because this is the perfect antidote to the depressive mess that is Dean in Pillars of Sand. So thank you!

Author’s Notes 3: For the sake of this story, Buffy and Faith are traveling with Sam and Dean, hunting things, saving people, etc. No specific SPN season and they have been traveling together for many months.

Prompt: 044 In Drag

Summary: Faith manages to get both Buffy and Dean to a costume party at a local bar in the town they are stopped in. She thinks they have issues and she thinks she has the solution.

*

"I can't believe you got her to agree to this," he said softly, glancing at the bathroom door where she had been holed up for the last thirty minutes.

"I can't believe you thought sending them on a hunt together was the way to get their heads out of their asses."

Sam Winchester frowned at her, shrugging noncommittally. Things had gone from bad to worse to train wreck to plane-crashing-into-mountain bad over the last few months and Faith had a point: putting them anywhere near each other without a buffer had the bad habit of usually leading to a fight involving broken bones and bruised faces.

"I didn't think she'd throw him off the mausoleum.”

Faith Lehane snorted as she tugged on her black platform boots, leaning down to start the lacing up process to complete her costume. Normally this was the perfect time to get far too much amusement out of Sam's baby eyes ogling her goodies but he had pissed her off with his little stunt. Stupid, stupid jackass.

“Hey,” she started, mocking his voice, “Maybe you guys should go ahead, get a lay of the land, scope out the bad guys.” Faith stomped her foot. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

Sam held up his hands. “Okay-“

“I had it all planned out. I spent money - _money_ , Sam - on these costumes. I played poker. I convinced B. I had a bit planned out. I planned a freaking bit because I was so sick of hearing it between those two knowing all they wanted to do was hit the freaking sheets.” Faith sat back, shaking her head. “And then here comes little Sammy, swooping in to save the day.”

“Faith-“

"No, 'cause those two ripping each other's balls off every chance they get wasn't a good indication that you were doing something dumb."

"Okay, Faith, I get it."

"No, gargantuan, you don't. See, you get sour-faced bitch-boy who glowers and drinks by himself." Faith pointed to herself in exasperation. "Me? I get to hear every single thing that idiot has done since the last time they boned. Hell, before that. All that girly crappy talk that I keep telling B I don’t do but does that stop the little bitching engine that could?” She snorted again before glaring at Sam. “No - you don't get it."

"Okay, okay, I get it. Sorry."

Faith rolled her eyes, shaking her head before going back to lacing her boot. She wanted to have a good damn time tonight. It had been ages since she had gotten her ass anywhere and even longer since Buffy had joined her thanks to the stupidity that walked around with too much swagger and too much ‘could give a fuck’ attitude. And after last night's debacle, she really, really needed to vent some frustration because now everything was going up in dog shit flames.

"Where is that fool of a brother of yours anyway?" she grunted, tugging too hard on the lace as she tied it up swiftly on one leg before starting on the other. “Get lost crossing the street?”

Sam glanced at the door. “He’s holed up in our room. He said he needs to ‘get shit-faced for this bullshit.’”

“Whatever,” she murmured, finishing up her shoes before standing with flourish. She shot Sam a scathing look before gesturing to the bathroom door. “Get lost. Buffy will know something’s up if you stick around.” Sam made a petulant face at her which only fueled the flames. “What?”

“I am sorry. It sounded like a good idea, they were having a good day-“

Faith held up her hand, silencing him. “One more day. You couldn’t have waited one more day for Buffy to ride Dean Dick all the way home.” Sam shot her a disgusted look at the mention of his brother’s appendage and Faith shrugged. “Hey, no filter when it comes to morons.”

Sam rolled his eyes, his shoulders dropping in defeat before heading to the door. Faith let out a deep sigh, slapping her hands against her thighs. “You know I don’t mean it, jeez.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said, his voice fading as he stepped out the door.

“Just next time check with me before you think you’re helping anyone,” she said after him as the door closed.

Seriously. One. More. Day. That was all she needed. It had been months - rather, it felt like eons of time and space and all that bullcrap - had passed since she had last seen Buffy smile. Joke. Laugh. Not enjoy a kill so much. Hell, usually that last part got Faith revving herself but this was different because imagining Dean’s face on every single vampire she staked just wasn’t healthy.

Faith snorted to herself. Not to say the dick didn’t deserve it but that didn’t mean Buffy was in the right either. It was time these two got over their damn stubborn selves and just had at it again. God, what she would give to hear the good ol’ fashioned sound of shitty bedsprings being broken by those two. She actually missed it because it meant everybody was happy.

Until they fought. And then it turned into a little bit more and then somehow hellfire got added to the mix and suddenly Buffy was punching Dean and Dean was giving it right back. She’d heard the stories about what Buffy had been like with Spike for a bit but this was just unadulterated rage between these two. And the funny part? Buffy kept coming back. She didn’t want to leave. Buffy from five years ago would have said sayonara to both these bozos but this Buffy? Well... she was a little too like Faith to comment so she didn’t argue with it.

At first, it had been funny. Now? Shitty. And it made Faith feel both guilty for agreeing to tag along with the boys in the first place as well as annoyed as hell that she somehow got roped into being the “girlfriend” rant machine receiver.

So... Faith had come up with a solution. A simple, easy solution that would surely give everyone a good laugh in the morning and a few weeks of peace before the next round started. Because there was no last round. They hit good spots before barreling into the bad spots with far too much passionate fire that ended up burning everything around them and pissing her off so bad she was starting to take it out on poor Sam. When they were really the victims here.

Christ, she was the irrational passionate one! Buffy was the calm, level-headed woman who kept everyone sane in times of disaster... unless, of course, you happened to be in love-despite-all-your-denials with Dean Winchester.

She was surrounded by stupid, stupid people.

Faith moved to the bathroom door, adjusting her breasts in her pushup bra accordingly. The fake lace on her costume itched at her skin but she didn’t care: black and red naughty nurses ignored itches. And she needed to dance and she needed to drink and she needed a good damn screw. Preferably in a closet then in a bathroom and then she’d find the right stud to ride for the rest of the night - in theory, leaving the room for Buffy and Dean.

Except now... now, the dog shit flames were blowing everything to smithereens. Faith used her anger with Sam to pound on the bathroom door, making it rattle on its hinges.

“B, hurry your ass up!”

“I’m not wearing these,” she responded sharply from the other side and Faith scoffed.

“Yes you fucking are. I don’t care what you say, you’re wearing them. Now move it.”

*

Buffy Summers was in Hell.

No, Hell was too simple. Hell was too pretty. Hell didn’t involve having to strap herself in this stupid little getup and prance around in shoes some hedonistic dirt bag had created because he liked perky asses. No... Hell involved torture. This was beyond torture... this was... Super Hell.

“Drink,” Faith said, shoving a shot glass full of something clear towards her. Buffy didn’t think as she took the glass, throwing the shot back. It burned the back of her throat as she swallowed it all at once and she felt its trek through her chest and into her stomach where it immediately began to warm her. She looked at Faith, her face sour as she nodded for another.

Faith chuckled. “Alright.” She turned to the man standing next to her, patting his shoulder gently and he turned with a huge grin on his face as Faith leaned towards him, giving him a direct view straight down Cleavage Avenue. Buffy watched, licking her lips of the alcohol before shoving the glass across the bar. Thank the gods she didn’t have cleavage in this little jumper and thank the gods triplicate that she didn’t have to deal with that tonight. Maybe the band sitting on her head basically saying, ‘I’m that weirdo nympho virgin girl that’s at every party’ would help in this.

Because anything with a penis right now was The Devil.

She was here because Faith had asked her to be. Because drinking had sounded fun and relaxing and the little voice in the back of her head that said making Dean jealous was the best idea ever had been way too convincing.

But not after last night. Not after what he had called her when he mentioned Angel and Spike and definitely not after he had punched her square in the face after she shoved him into a tree. The stupid jerk deserved to go flying off that mausoleum - she even wished his head had cracked open like a piñata.

Two more shots magically appeared before her and she watched Faith down hers as two more guys appeared behind the man buying them the drinks. Alright, maybe not a piñata. But... at least some blood. He’d barely been winded. And maybe a little bruised. He was lucky she had been aware of the fact that she was kicking him and not the vampire she claimed to have been aiming for when he finally got up and verbally attacked her all over again before Faith and Sam broke up the show.

“Who’s your friend?” Buffy heard as she sipped at one of her shots and she glanced over to see Faith’s fella’s eyes dancing all over her. She rolled her eyes before drinking the shot altogether. She heard Faith slap his chest.

“That’s my girl B,” Faith said, her accent drawling a little heavier. She smiled heavily at the blonde as Buffy glanced over. “B, this is Superman.”

Buffy smiled tightly, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice as she eyed the badly drawn S symbol on his white t-shirt. “Nice to meet you, Superman.”

“I like your ears,” he said loudly, nodding to her head and she rolled her eyes to Faith who just snickered at him. Superman looked behind him. “This is Brad and Sean. They’re Army guys.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow at the boys behind Superman. One of them winked at her and she smiled back. Army. Great. Apparently this week was destined to be Torture Buffy With Ex-ly Reminders. The one who had winked at her - thankfully, the taller and more handsome of the two - raised an eyebrow at her before moving to come over. She straightened her back, wondering if she was going to tell him absolutely not or say absolutely yes. She wasn’t sure what kind of night she was in for just yet as the warmth of the vodka spread through her body and maybe that was because she hated everything that was a male and because she hadn’t had enough alcohol.

Buffy brought her third shot to her lips, ready to politely decline Army Boy when she spotted Dean and Sam on the other side of the bar. Buffy choked on the liquid, spraying it out of the glass. Dean. Dean was wearing... She gaped at him where he was glowering at every person on the planet before looking at Faith.

Faith just smirked at her before turning to Dean herself. She cocked her head, taking in his costume. “I play a good hand at poker, B.”

“Faith, what did you do?”

Faith shrugged. “Just having a little fun. It’s Halloween.”

Buffy stared at her as Faith turned back to Superman and one of the Army guys while the one who had shown interest was suddenly standing behind her. He felt his hand on the small of her back, the warmth of it easily leaking through the thin red jumper she wore. She glanced back at Dean, her eyes wide with incredulity as his eyes locked on her. If it was possible, his face got darker, angrier before he shoved his way towards the bar.

With a snap, Buffy’s mind was made up as she finished her shot before turning to her own Army guy with a toothy smile.

*

“Well, hey there, gorgeous.”

“I have a gun!” Dean Winchester snapped at the laughing pirate. “I will shoot that goddamn smile right off your douche face.”

He felt Sam push him past the group of mocking men and towards the bar. Barely three minutes in and he had already gotten two inappropriate greetings, one creepy wink and one not-so-comical ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’ joke... He was ready to strangle everyone around him.

“Dean,” his brother said in warning.

Dean growled under his breath, reaching an empty spot on the bar. He nodded to the bartender. “Tequila. A lot of it and keep it coming and I swear if you say one thing about redheads, I will rip your head off.” Dean glanced over at Sam and snarled, “What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing,” Sam said with an amused smile, averting his eyes. Dean clenched his jaw, looking away to scan the bar once again although his eyes landed right where he didn’t want them to. Right on _her_ and what he saw made his mood drop even further in the shitter. He watched Buffy talk to some stupid doof of a dude who smiled down at her like he wanted to tear off that tiny piece of fabric she called a costume.

Hell, Dean wanted to rip that little thing off - she looked like the sexiest version possible of the Easter Bunny and the little white shirt she wore underneath it was practically see-through and... Dean's eyes slid to where Faith had two meatheads practically eating from the palm of her hand and he glared at her. If looks could hurt, he really hoped it felt like a butter knife drilling through her head.

Fuck her. Fuck her right across town and into the next state and right over into Canada. Fuck. Her.

Dean growled at himself, forcing himself to look somewhere else. He noticed a shot of tequila had been placed in front of him and he grabbed it, throwing it back before waving the glass at the bartender. “Dude, really, one shot? Leave the goddamn bottle!”

“Dean, calm down.”

“You calm down!” Dean snapped, slamming the glass down on the bar. “I can’t calm down.”

“You know, you made the appearance,” Sam said. “Did what she asked. You could leave.” Dean just grunted as he drank another shot, his face screwed up as he swallowed the tequila, motioning for another. He couldn’t help himself when he slid another glance towards Buffy and he saw she was already acting a little loopy - Christ, she’d already been drinking - as she touched that piece of crap’s arm. He glowered. “Dean, she can take care of herself.”

“I don’t give a rat’s fucking ass what she can do.” He gingerly touched his chest where her little foot had connected last night, propelling him across the cemetery - _on purpose_. He glowered further, that familiar anger burning inside him until he was ready to go over there, remove that dude’s head with tweezers before ripping her a new one.

“Dean-“

“Screw off, Sammy.”

“You could go over there and ask her to, I don’t know… dance.”

“I said screw. Off. Sam.”

“I’m just saying-“

“Are you kidding me with this?”

Sam held his hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”

Dean glared at him. “I pray for your sake you weren’t in on this.” He gestured to Buffy’s outfit. “Clearly Faith has a few thousand screws loose in that goddamn lunatic head of hers.” Sam just shrugged and Dean turned back to find her but both of them were gone. He glared at the spot where she had just been. He shouldn’t give two craps where she was right now - his bruised lungs were a testament to that - but that sure as hell didn’t mean he didn’t care and that sure as hell didn’t mean he wasn’t ready to beat the living crap out of someone if they touched anything on that little body of hers.

They may want to scream and yell and fight until they turned blue and play the stubborn act until his own balls were purple but that didn’t mean he wanted any other guy coming near her. That was all his. End of discussion. He had come in tonight ready to drink until everything was a big blur of acceptable, ready to own up on his stupid dumbass bet and get the night over with. That he was fine with. And he would have sworn on his left nut that Buffy wouldn’t have come tonight since she barely set foot in any place with anything more than water and oranges and that promise had made it okey dokey dandy...

But she was here. Wearing practically nothing while still wearing something and letting some jackass molest the hell out of her.

He was going to murder Faith before the night was out.

“Okay, whatever, man.” Sam said, letting a moment pass before smirking at him. “You do look gorgeous tonight.”

“I will kill you,” Dean said sourly, pointing his finger at Sam. “And every other asshole in this bar who even looks at me sideways.”

“I can’t believe you agreed to this.”

“She cheated.”

“Or you suck at poker.”

“No,” Dean said, finishing his third and waving for another. “She cheated. She knew what would happen. She fucking cheated.”

“Uh huh.”

“Lookin’ good,” somebody said from behind Dean and Sam chuckled when Dean turned around, growling, “Fuck off.”

*

The world was pleasantly fuzzy as Buffy danced with Faith in the center of the bar. The building was packed to the brink with people dressed up, the dance floor smashed with bodies and Faith appeared to be doing everything in her power to get every single guy in the bar to buy them drinks.

And it was working. Buffy felt... way too good.

She threw her head back, losing herself in the beat as she moved her body. She didn’t notice her costume anymore and she didn’t notice the way Brad’s hands stayed firmly on her hips as they moved together. Faith was using Frankenstein and a creeper doctor as grinding poles next to her after ditching Superman and Buffy shook her head in amusement when Faith pulled one of their heads down, speaking in his ear before doing the same with the other. They both nodded and Faith turned to Buffy, winking at her before dragging them off the floor.

For a few minutes, all she heard was the music, all she felt was the hot sway of the candy-flavored liquor she had probably had too much of but she didn’t care. She felt loose, free and it felt really, really... really good.

She also found it really, really easy to look the other way whenever she thought about finding Dean. Hell, even in the crowd of people, there were about ten of them wearing fake red wigs and the thought of Dean walking around dressed as he was made her giggle a little.

Served the jerk right, being the jerk guy that he was.

Suddenly Brad’s hands moved up her waist where he danced behind her, his hands feeling large and clammy, and she immediately turned in his arms, stopping their wayward ballet as they drifted back down to her hips. He must have gotten the message because his hands stopped and she was suddenly struck with a rare moment of chivalry. It was... weird and endearing and... She might actually like Brad.

“You wanna get a drink?” he shouted over the music.

“Yeah!” Buffy said back with a nod and she let him grab her hand and lead her towards the bar. She forced herself to turn her back to where she had last seen her redheaded jackass of a hunting partner, watching Brad lean over and order a few drinks. She adjusted the tight red jumper, scrunching her feet in her heels. Pushing her headband back in place, she looked around slowly, blinking lazily. Now that she was stopped, the world was starting to take on a delightfully warm and kind of spinny manner.

“So what’s your name?” he asked her, his voice raised to be heard over the music and Buffy laughed a little. Right. A name. She’d been dancing with the guy for over two hours and he didn’t know her name. And he was actually being a nice guy. For a split second, Buffy realized she couldn’t remember the last time she had done this: talked to a guy with the interest of being more than someone to talk to whose name didn’t start with a D.

She’d missed it.

“Buffy.”

“Buffy?” he repeated, his voice slightly skeptical and Buffy laughed.

“It’s my real name,” she assured him.

He smiled at her before turning with money in his hands when the bartender appeared with their drinks. He pushed something tall and bright pink towards her and she raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

Brad smirked, grabbing his drink and holding it up as if he wanted to toast her or something when he paused, the smile leaking from his face slowly as he stared at something behind her. Buffy frowned. “What?”

He didn’t respond, his face uncomfortable, and she turned to see what he was staring at when she found Dean standing right behind her, his eyes narrowed as he stared at Brad, his red wig askew but it and the bright red dress he wore did nothing to make him look any less menacing. In fact, he looked even more so.

Despite the murderous glare he was sending Brad’s way, Buffy could smell the tequila on his breath and could see it in his eyes: he was drunk.

Awesome.

“Jesus, Dean, what the hell are you doing?” Buffy snapped, stepping away from him but that put her closer to Brad and she watched Dean take another step closer, crowding her in between the two of them as he glared at the other man. Buffy opened her mouth to tell him to get lost when she saw how tight his jaw was, how tense he was. He looked like he usually looked when they were waiting to ambush something of the supernatural-type and Buffy felt a leveling amount of sobriety hit her. “Dean-“

“I think you’ve had enough,” Dean said, glancing down at her before glaring back at Brad.

And just like that, the moment of sanity was gone as she saw red.

“What?” Buffy snapped. “No. Go away.”

“I don’t like this guy,” he said.

“Are you seriously doing this?”

“What?” Dean asked, finally looking at her fully with his brows furrowed and Buffy took the opportunity to shove him in the chest and away from her. She watched with pleasure as he winced when she hit the very right spot but he bounced back immediately. “Oh hell no.”

“Hell yes,” she replied snottily.

“No,” Dean replied, his voice taking on mocking version of hers and Buffy felt the urge to growl at him before punching him in that stupid face of his.

“You know what-“ Brad started behind them but Buffy cut him off, ignoring him.

“Where do you come off? What, you get to call me the ‘dead man’s broken ride’ but pull this crap?” she asked hotly and Dean just glared down at her before his eyes switched back to Brad, ignoring the reminder of how the fight last night had started. He could hear the tremor in her voice as she continued, her voice getting louder, “Do I need permission to breathe now? Come on, Dean, tell me what else I can’t do.” Dean didn’t move and her voice got darker. “Come on, Dean, make my night.”

Dean rolled his eyes as Brad put his hands up behind Buffy, looking apologetic as he said to Dean, “Look, man, I didn’t know she was taken.”

Buffy whipped around. “I’m not taken!”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, nodding his head, his voice pleased as Brad moved away but Buffy grabbed his arm, keeping him in place and she missed the way Dean’s eyes flared as Buffy held the Army man in place.  
.  
“I am not taken,” Buffy said to him before glaring at Dean. “Tell him I’m not taken.”

“Yes. She is.”

“Dean!” Buffy said in exasperation. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“Look, lady, I don’t want to get in the middle of any freaky little games you guys like to play,” Brad said, his tone losing all the charm and warmth he had had just a moment ago as he eyed Dean’s costume, making Dean’s skin flush in embarrassed anger. Brad tried to tug his arm free but Buffy held on, tightening her grip, making him wince. “And, uh, that really hurts.”

“Buffy, why don’t you let the guy go before you rip his arm off, huh?” Dean said, grabbing her and Buffy released him before shoving Dean away again but he caught her arm, saying, “I don’t think so, cupcake,” as he pulled her close, flush against his body. Brad disappeared into the crowd without a backwards glance.

Despite the white hot anger coursing through her system, Buffy’s body immediately molded against his and she felt his arousal through the thin dress, pressing against her lower stomach. She felt herself reacting instantly, her nipples hardening as her breasts pressed against his chest, her skin tingling where his hands rested on her back as he held her. Without hardly a request, she felt a rush of creamy warmth between her legs as he rubbed his hardness against her. She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he pressed his face into her neck, inhaling her.

She bit her bottom lip when his stubble brushed against her jawline and she shivered, that world fuzziness problem becoming a much, much larger problem as she found it intensely difficult to do anything but melt into a gigantic pile of goo as he continued to hold her. Even the plastic-smelling wig on his head did nothing to deter her reaction. Even the fact that he was wearing a dress and she was practically climbing him like a tree already in the middle of a bar did nothing for her.

God, how she had missed it. Missed him. Missed his touch that set her on fire. It had been too long. Weeks. Weeks too long.

“Dean...” she whispered, barely audible over the loud music and the rush of blood in her ears. She absently wondered why she didn’t drink more because it made giving into him so much easier.

His lips pressed to her ear, his voice a mixture of amusement and sarcasm as he said, “You make it too easy, sweetheart.”

And just like that, the spell was broken. Buffy pulled back, glaring at him angrily before slapping him across the face. She heard his loud painful response as well as the reaction of the crowd around them as she turned, pushing her way through the people.

Stupid. She was so, so stupid. And she was going to kill Faith. Or Faith was going to lose an arm tomorrow because she had done all of this on purpose. She knew what she had been doing, that damn sister Slayer of hers. She knew!

Buffy shook her head in incredulity as she reached the back of the bar, thinking of all the ways she was going to hurt Faith - everything from pulling her hair to putting dirt in her sandwich - as she headed towards the bathroom where she planned on shimmying her way out of the window or something just as ridiculous when Dean’s calloused hand grabbed her elbow. He snatched her back and pulled her along with him until he shoved her through the side entrance of the bar and into a side street.

“Damn it, Dean-“

He didn’t give her a chance to speak before he was on her, his hands around her waist as he pushed her up against a brick wall, his lips on hers violently, pressing her into the building painfully, hungrily. Her back groaned in protest from the cold as she grabbed onto him, every other thought flying from her mind but anything related to Dean as he mauled her. She whimpered into his mouth, his tongue plundering hers as warmth suddenly blossomed in her stomach, spreading out rapidly and she melted in his arms, grasping him as she pulled him closer. She kissed him back just as hard, nipping at his lips and he growled against her. She felt his fingers digging painfully into her hips as he held her still and Buffy whimpered in protest when he ripped his lips away, pulling back enough to glare at her as she panted against him.

“What?” she breathed.

Dean didn’t say anything, his jaw tightening as he reached up and snapped open one of the buttons holding her jumper up. Buffy bit her tongue as he stared at her, his eyes darkening with each minute and she found it hard to breathe when she felt his hot hand suddenly palming her bare breast through her tiny white t-shirt and she shivered, the cooler night air the perfect counter to the heat growing between them. Buffy’s eyes fluttered as he massaged her breast before pinching her nipple painfully and she arched into, gasping his name, her eyes never leaving his, intensifying the sensations.

He pinned her to the wall, his hand reaching further down the jumper. The two snaps in front were the only things keeping it up and she felt the one still attached slipping down her shoulder as he shoved his hand down her pants and into her panties.

“Big ol’ Army guy got you all wet, huh?” he grunted, closing his eyes as his fingers dipped into her heat for just a moment before disappearing. Buffy whimpered gently, her arms wrapped around his neck as she tried to pull him in closer, press his body against hers again. Her hips lifted to find his hand again but he had pulled it back out to wipe his fingers on her clothes. Normally, this would have been enough to piss her off all over again but it had been too long since he’d touched her this way. Too, too long.

“Jealous?” she asked, her voice breathless, her eyes closed as her hips lifted again, her body remembering exactly what those fingers could do and she felt his hand on her neck, his thumb rubbing against her jaw.

“Jealous that you let all those assholes in there touch you?” he replied gruffly, his fingers digging into her neck as he once again pushed her against the wall, bending his knees to push her up, lifting her off the ground, her legs wrapping around him and she felt how hard he was, how much he wanted her. Buffy gasped, instinctively moving against him, her body arching into his. Her shoulder blades dug into the cold building as his lips hovered over hers. “Nah.”

“I like it when you’re jealous,” she whispered, her voice soft and lulled and Dean snorted against her.

“I’m not jealous,” he said before he kissed her again, roughly, pushing her into the building once more. The back of her head slapped the brick but she didn’t feel it as he rubbed against her, his arousal hard and unwavering and she moaned into his mouth, kissing him back with just as much fervor. His hips moved against her, pressing her further into the wall, trying to get closer as she matched his rhythm, already feeling the dull thud of her pleasure building as her blood started rushing towards her center. For a moment, nothing mattered but Dean as he thrust against her, rubbed against her and she held him closer, her pleasure mounting as he groaned something she couldn’t hear, his hips moving quicker, and she didn’t care, only concentrating on the heat... until he pulled away.

“What-“

“Get that stupid shit off your head,” he grunted, ripping the large bunny ears out of her hair and tossing them to the ground before doing the same with the long red wig he had had on. She blinked, realizing she had been kissing Dean while wearing a wig and she was sure she would appreciate that more later on but right now...

“Motel,” he grunted, grabbing her hand and yanking her with him, making her stumble again and she pulled her arm away from him.

“Not so fast, Skippy, I can’t walk that fast in these,” she groused, gesturing to her shoes as she took a few slower steps. “My feet-“ But Dean didn’t stop to care as he picked her up and swung her over his shoulder quickly, knocking the air out of her before she could even blink and then he was walking quickly back out towards the main street. “Hey!”

“I can’t wait to fucking walk normal,” Dean replied in annoyance. “Wear some damn normal shoes and this shit wouldn’t happen.”

“I can’t hear you,” Buffy mumbled, lifting her head to look up when she lost one of her shoes as Dean’s pace picked up. “My shoe!”

“Fuck it,” Dean replied as he walked a few blocks over. He saw the flash of headlights fly over them and he could only imagine the sight they made: a man wearing a long, skintight red dress and a raging hard-on carrying a woman in a tiny red jumper with one shoe. Fucking awesome. “I don’t give a goddamn about shoes right now.”

And then Buffy bit one of his ass cheeks through the thin material of his dress and he yelped. “The hell!”

“That was for my shoe,” he heard vaguely and he reached up and delivered a hard, rough swat to her own ass and she yelped right back. “Ow!”

“I don’t care about shoes,” he mumbled as they reached the bottom level room she was sharing with Faith, the arm wrapped around her hot thighs tightening in anticipation as he tried the door and found it unlocked. Alright, that damn woman finally did something right that night.

He barreled into the room, swinging it shut behind him before heading for the bed where he dropped Buffy without ceremony, immediately crawling over her and finding her lips again, forcing her legs open to settle between her thighs. Buffy arched against him, her hands immediately trying to push the dress out of the way as Dean thrust against her, pressing her into the mattress.

“Dress,” Buffy gasped against his lips. “Need to feel-“

Dean cut her off, pressing his lips against hers, pressing his tongue into her mouth and she opened willingly, letting him plunder her again as his hand found the last snap holding her damn jumper up. He pulled back with a loud groan, leaning back to rip it off of her. She lifted her hips to help him as he grabbed her remaining shoe, throwing it against the wall before roughly tugging on the jumper. It slid off easily enough, leaving Buffy in nothing but a little pink pair of panties that he didn’t bother to appreciate, pulling them up her legs and tossing them over his shoulder as well.

Buffy sat up, pushing his dress up and out of the way as her nimble fingers found the band of his boxers and shoved them down. Dean tugged the dress up further as his member popped out. He felt her hand moving to grip him and goddamn how he wanted to feel her little fingers around his dick again but he couldn’t wait. She was half naked in front of him right now; he could smell the musk of her arousal and his mouth watered as he pushed her back down by her shoulders, lifting one of her legs up as he followed her down, his fingers digging into her thigh.

“Dean,” Buffy gasped, grabbing his head and pulling his mouth down to hers, devouring his lips with hers, her teeth scratching at him painfully. He found her opening, feeling so hot, so wet... the head of his dick slipped against her easily, the sensations creating havoc, and she whimpered her pleasure into his mouth, lifting her hips up against him and he lost all control.

He thrust into her violently, pushing her into the mattress. She ripped her lips away, her mouth open in a silent scream as he pulled out and thrust back in just as quickly, just as hard. “Oh god...”

She was so hot, so slick, so good, so damn good as Dean sawed in and out of her, one hand holding her leg up for leverage as she slid up the sheets. He shoved his other hand underneath her shirt, finding one of her breasts. She arched against him, changing the angle as he went deeper and he groaned her name, his pace picking up as he squeezed her nipple, watching the arch of her body in the dark room, the way she moved against him, the way she responded. He heard her shouting as she bucked underneath him, her legs tightening their hold and his hips moved faster.

Buffy thrust up against, matching him as she fought to hold on to him. He was moving inside her with a bruising force, the sound of their skin slapping together matching her gasping moans in the room and she choked out his name when the hand on her breast started tightening, painfully and she felt a sharp sting of pleasure arch through her body and suddenly everything was on fire.

His hot breath on her neck, his stubble scratching at her as he thrust her into the mattress... she was suddenly hyper aware of every single place he touched as she moved urgently against him, whimpering his name before she exploded, her back arched as her orgasm rocked through her body.

With a sharp cry, Buffy came, hard, her core rippling around him. Her cries filled the room as he thrust into her, the headboard slapping the wall, his hips moving faster, pushing into her with the punishing pace and he gasped her name, digging his chin into her shoulder, his quick movements pushing Buffy higher, his name falling from her lips over and over when he came with a loud gasp, thrusting into her one last time as he exploded inside her with a cry of release.

*

The first thing Buffy was aware of was when she awoke was how hot she was.

She felt like she was living in a steam room as she tried to move to free herself from her blanket before she became aware of why she was so hot. She was lying on her stomach, her head barely on her pillow with Dean lying right next to her. Half of his upper body was using her back as his pillow, his rough cheek resting on her bare shoulder as he slept.

Right. That happened.

Buffy tried to move but he didn’t let her, his hand coming up to rest on her naked ass and she gasped a little when his fingers dug into her cheek.

“No,” Dean said softly. “No moving.”

“But I’m hot.”

“Yes. You are.” Buffy snorted, pushing the shoulder where he rested up so his head jostled and he groaned in annoyance, rolling over just enough for her to stretch. She rubbed her face, moving to get up when he rolled back over, wrapping an arm around her waist and keeping her still. “Don’t move.”

Buffy let herself fall back against his chest when he snorted and she stiffened. She was ready to hear the litany of curses she was sure were waiting to come out after spending the majority of the night remembering why they liked each other so much and she tried to get her sleep-addled brain to churn up some quippy responses when he pressed his face into her back.

“Fucking great,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “I’ve waited weeks to get your ass in bed again and I’m wearing a fucking dress when it happens.”

Buffy couldn’t help herself.

She laughed.

*

“I’m a mad genius.” Buffy glanced up as Faith made her way to the table with a large smile on her face. She didn’t respond, still a little ticked at her antics.

“Last night was killer,” Faith said, ignoring the cold shoulder, holding a plate heaping with food from the buffet as she sat down. Buffy and Dean sat on the opposite side, a somewhat respectable distance between them but anyone with eyes could see Dean had his arm wrapped around her ass, his hand resting on her hip. Buffy couldn’t keep the smile from her face as he inhaled his own food.

Buffy smirked at Faith. “I saw.”

“I saw too,” Faith said cheekily. She pulled out her cell phone, flipping through a few pictures. “Got some good shots. A chick wearing censor boards, totally naked underneath. Some guy was sporting this sign that said ‘Miracle Whip’ with a sign pointing to his junk. And B, you gotta see these guys from last night.” She didn’t miss the dark look Dean suddenly shot her but she ignored it. “And here, this is the best one.”

Shoving her phone into Buffy’s face, Faith watched Buffy blanch as she stared at the picture. “Faith. You didn’t.”

“I did, Goldilocks.”

“What?” Dean asked, his mouth full of food, looking up to see what they were looking at, praying for Faith’s sake that it wasn’t a picture of any guy’s junk when he suddenly forgot that he had food in his mouth. How he managed to swallow it without choking was beyond him as he stared at a back shot of himself, wearing his red dress and his red wig, pressing Buffy against the wall, looking like she was wearing nothing but gigantic bunny years and red ‘fuck me’ heels, as they did more than kiss. “No.”

“Yes,” Faith said with too much glee, snatching the phone back before Dean could grab it. He glared at her, all of the rage and humiliation from having to wear the damn dress in the first place rushing back, and she chuckled. “That’ll teach the two of you.”

“You better delete that fucking picture,” was all Dean could manage as he tried to snatch the phone again without success as Sam came back with his own plate.

“What picture?” Sam asked and Faith flipped the phone open and showed him. Sam laughed and Dean leaned over to grab the phone but Faith was too quick. Buffy bit her bottom lip as Dean let loose a slew of curse words, the table shaking as he lunged again. She rested her hand on his thigh and he calmed a bit.

“Faith-“

“I don’t think so,” the brunette said, snapping her phone shut and shoving her fork into a pile of eggs. “You two just officially ruined _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_ for me, you know that right? I loved that freaking movie.”

She ignored Dean where he tried to push Buffy out of the booth, growling obscenities at her as he tried to get out so he could stand to reach the brunette. Instead, Faith looked at Sam with a huge grin. “Looks like we’re roomies again, Godzilla.”

The End

*

A/N: I kind of took the cheap way out with this prompt although this was much more fun than the original story I had written for it. If I get crazy later on, I’ll revisit with a more serious take on “In Drag.”

Please let me know what you thought - hope you liked!


	3. Off the Hook

Off The Hook

by Bre

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or parts of this storyline. They belong to the brains of The Whedon and The Kripke.  
Rating: M/FR21  
Author’s Notes: See “Damn Damned” for additional notes on this smutty series of ficlets.  
Author’s Notes 2: Thank you for the excellent response! The reviews, follows and favorites really make my day! And I can’t lie, the more reviews from everyone telling me their thoughts just makes me want to write quicker!

Author’s Notes 3: For the sake of this story, Buffy and Dean are hunters.

Prompt: 012 Bedroom

Summary: Buffy isn’t in the mood for any shenanigans after a rough hunt but Dean has other things in mind.

*

The click of the old remote in his hands as he hit the channel button echoed in the quiet motel room, his finger moving so quickly the television didn’t have a chance to make a sound. He barely caught what was on each channel but he didn’t really care, staring at the screen before pausing on an infomercial.

“And these! These gorgeous, stunning fourteen karat gold-“

Dean Winchester hit mute, staring at the older woman holding up a pair of crappy looking earrings in fake velvet, the screen inundated with numbers as the camera zoomed in on the jewelry like it made any difference to the housewives sitting around buying the stupid things.

He heard the slow turn of a magazine page from his left and he glanced over at her where she laid out next to him on the bed, her back turned to him. She was propped up on her elbow, her hand holding her head, the dull light from the lamp on her side giving her a weird shadow glow.

She hadn’t spoken since they had gotten to the room. She was mad. She had walked into the room, thrown off her jacket, kicked off her boots and stripped away her pants as best she could before plopping down on the bed... all without saying a damn word.

His eyes ran over her. Her hair was still up in a messy ponytail, the strands that had come out from their chase still loose across her bare shoulders. She wore a thin black, ribbed tank top that barely covered her torso and she had on some little white cotton panties, tight enough that he could see right through them. It was hot... in a very weird, domestic sort of way. But hell, if anyone knew the treasures that those little clothes hid, they would find that shit hot too.

His eyes lit on the reason for her pissy attitude. He frowned as he stared at the messy cut running along the side of her leg. It had finally stopped bleeding on the way over but not after hearing all about how he had ruined her favorite pants, how she couldn’t bend her leg because of his moronic move and how just about everything else in the goddamn world was suddenly his fault since he hadn’t been able to control his goddamn arm when the fucking demon tripped her right in front of him.

He winced as he remembered slicing into her skin with his bowing knife, her gasp of pain as she fell and the demon disappearing with a snarky wink.

Alright, so maybe she had a reason to be a little angry.

Dean tossed the remote onto the other bed, not bothering to turn the TV off as he rolled to his side to face her. She felt him.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said quietly, her voice calm and even. Dean smirked at the back of her head as she turned another page in whatever magazine she had picked up.

“I’m just getting comfortable.”

Buffy Summers snorted. “Right.”

A heavy pause filled the room and she could feel his eyes drilling into her back but she didn’t budge. She didn’t want to budge. She couldn’t budge even if she wanted to. The guy who was supposed to be hacking at the bad guys had actually hacked at her instead, leaving her with a nasty little souvenir that still filled her with a white hot mixture of rage and betrayal. It was a little irrational, sure, but he had cut her right down her leg!

Buffy adjusted her shoulders, settling deeper into the bed as she stared absently at the page in front of her, her mind reeling over what had happened. How the hell it had happened... Suddenly the demon was in front of her and he had whisked her gun away and then her feet were in the air and when Dean had come up behind the stupid thing, he had blinked out of the way and then there was just pain.

A lot of freaking pain.

Buffy felt the bed shifting again and she stiffened, her eyes narrowing at the picture of a model advertising shoes. “Touch me and lose the hand.”

“Baby-“

“Don’t baby me,” Buffy snapped.

She heard his dry chuckle. “Buffy-“

“Don’t Buffy me, either,” she continued. She turned a page of the magazine forcefully, tearing part of the fragile page it from its binding. “Don’t anything me until you find a way to magically heal my leg and magically heal my intense desire to shove me foot up your nose.”

Silence.

Buffy took a deep breath, shifting again and wincing when she felt the pull on the cut. She fought the urge to glance down because she really didn’t want to see what it looked like. She hadn’t bothered cleaning it out yet, it hurt too much to even stand. She knew it wasn’t a bad, awful cut but the fact that bending her knee made it feel like someone was stabbing her with a thousand tiny little toothpicks was enough to stem the desire to do anything but lay.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid man.

Buffy’s back stiffened when she felt his fingertip dragging across her lower back, right above the hem of her panties. Her skin instantly broke out in goose bumps, following the trail his finger created and she felt her traitorous body responding, her limbs tingling at the thought of his fingers and what they could be doing. She felt a hot rush of creamy warmth from between her legs as she pictured those fingers in her panties and she squeezed her thighs together in aggravation. She fought the urge to jerk away from him, show him she wasn’t fooling around - the damn guy knew what he was doing but the hell if she would respond to it - and it would just hurt her. Instead she reached back and slapped his hand away.

“Ow.”

“Knock it off.”

Buffy turned another page as Dean stared at the back of her head, a little half smile on his face. She was right; he knew how to play her body like a fiddle and right now, there was only one way he wanted to be sorry for the little mishap earlier...

Dean reached out again, palming her lower back and he slipped his hand up her shirt. He felt her stiffen underneath her hot skin as he pushed his hand up, his fingers dragging lightly across her back. He wanted very, very badly to roll a little closer to her, press himself against her and press his extremely hard problem right between her ass cheeks. He knew how much she liked it and how much he liked her rubbing herself against him... Dean licked his lips at the thought as she leaned back into his touch.

He more felt than heard her stuttered breath before she shrugged away from him angrily.

“I am not kidding,” she snapped.

He smirked at her, relinquishing her shirt but he didn’t relent. He scooted closer to her, his hand moving to her hip where he slid his hand across her lower belly, his fingers pushing underneath the hem of her panties from behind. She inhaled quickly and he didn’t pause, pressing his face against the back of her neck, nuzzling the skin there and he felt her shiver under his touch.

“Dean-“ she started, her voice cracking a bit, trying to sound angry but just sounding very... very not angry.

“What?” he whispered against her in reply, moving closer while pulling her lithe body back against his where she fit right against him. He took a deep breath, holding her against his hardness bulging out of his boxers. He strained against her, rubbing his stubble along her neck before placing an open mouthed kiss underneath her ear, his fingers digging into her abdomen as she inadvertently shifted against him. He let out a little groan, closing his eyes.

“Stop it,” she said in a little whine, her voice breathless. “I’m mad at you.”

“I know,” he grunted, holding her in place as he rubbed himself against her. Dean opened his eyes, angling his head to get better access to her neck and he saw her licking her lips, her eyes closed. His mind immediately jumped to how goddamn delicious those lips would look wrapped around the head of his cock and he felt himself getting harder.

She was fisting the magazine and he slipped his other arm underneath her neck, wrapping it around her chest as he pulled her closer just as he slipped his other hand into her panties. She let out a gasp, pushing the magazine off the bed and onto the floor as she gripped the sheets instead. His fingers immediately found her little nub, already slick and ready for him and the instant he touched her, her hips jerked against him. He hissed at the sensations of her ass rubbing on him just as she let out a little cry when she moved to bend her leg.

“Ow, ow, ow,” she whimpered and Dean paused, pulling her closer to his chest. “Dean-“

“Sorry,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. “I know it hurts. Just relax...”

“Ha,” she huffed and he felt her starting to resist again. “You know it hurts? I know what I can do to-“

“Buffy, shut up,” he said gruffly before licking the shell of her ear, pulling it into his mouth and nibbling it a bit, making her shudder against him, her body becoming compliant again. His fingers started moving in her panties, rubbing against her clit and her hips moved to meet him, although more hindered as she took care with her leg. Her mouth opened in a pant, arching her neck to give him better access and he took full advantage of it. He licked and nibbled, leaving angry red marks in his wake as he moved his hand further into her panties, slipping a finger into her hot channel.

“Oh god,” she gasped, turning her head into the pillow, her fists gripping the sheets tighter as he added another. Buffy felt like her body was caught in a slow, hot burn as he added a third finger, pumping into her, his movements gaining speed and force. Her breath hitched and she gasped his name when he pushed his fingers in as deep as he could, his thumb finding her clit once more, rubbing it gently.

She let out a shuddering moan, pressing herself as hard as she could against his unyielding body, the burn turning into an urgent fire underneath her skin and she felt a hot pressure building in her groin as she thrust into his hand.

“Don’t stop,” she whimpered over and over, letting out a gasp as he met her little thrusts, adding another finger as his lips found her pulse point. He sucked her skin into his mouth, his tongue roving over it with just the right amount of pain and pleasure and Buffy sucked in a harsh breath. She felt the arm across her chest stiffening, pulling her against him as he rubbed his dick against her ass in time with her movements. She felt the heat of his breathy pants on her neck as she climbed, the pressure between her legs getting hotter and hotter...

“Oh god, Dean,” Buffy gasped, her body stiffening, his fingers thrusting into her wet canal as his thumb caressed her hard clit. Buffy’s hand flew up to the arm holding her chest, her nails digging into his skin as she moved against his hand. She felt his teeth bite her neck slightly, just enough, and she came with a shout, her back arching as she shoved herself against his hand. He didn’t stop, his thumb not relenting, and she felt another sharp orgasm tear through her body as she sucked his fingers deeper inside her.

She moaned into the pillow, her hips moving against him, riding the shockwaves echoing in her body, before she fell limp on the bed.

Buffy couldn’t keep the sloppy smile off her face as she turned her head to look back at him, his stubble scratching at her skin deliciously, making her shiver. Her eyes were half-closed as she moved, her body feeling like wet spaghetti as he moved quicker than she could process. Suddenly his hand was out of her panties and he was shoving them down her hips, pushing them down her thighs before he did the same and she felt his hardness spring out of his boxers, the head of it pressing against her ass.

She moaned slightly, fully prepared to turn around and let him do whatever the hell he wanted to her when he gripped her hip, keeping her still. She felt his hand brushing against her as he gripped himself and she licked her lips at the sight in her mind, letting out a shaky breath when he rolled her forward slightly before pressing himself against her sopping wet entrance from behind.

“Mmm, yes,” she moaned, rolling forward further, keeping her wounded leg straight, her panties straining between her legs as she opened them further. She heard him groaning behind her, the arm holding her chest hard and unrelenting as his fingers dug into her arm, keeping her still.

Dean groaned her name, closing his eyes and leaning back to get a good view, feeling her wonderful heat as he pressed himself against her. For the love of the goddamn gods in the sky, she felt fucking amazing and he guided himself before moving his hips, moving his hand to her lower abdomen as he pressed her back at the same time. He slid in easily, a wet sound filling the room as she moaned at the intrusion, her hips meeting his.

Dean would never, ever get sick of the sight of her ass pressed against him as he thrust into her and he looked at her, the sight of her wild hair on the pillow, her face contorted with pleasure as she gripped the sheets in one hand, the other firmly around his wrist, holding him there. It was erotic as all hell and he pulled out, thrusting against her harder. His eyes snapped shut when she suddenly squeezed her thighs together, pressing her hips back, her back arched and he dug his fingers into her stomach, pulling her hips back harder.

For a moment, it was slow, sensual. It felt far too good to do anything else but enjoy her heat, the little mewls coming from her throat as he filled her. Dean dug his face into her shoulder, holding her close as he took her from behind.

“Dean,” she gasped, writhing, a shiver wracking her body as she started moving more insistently. He responded in kind, moving faster and he moaned her name against her skin, his hand moving down to her mound, finding her nub once more. She let out a sharp cry as he started rubbing her, feeling himself straining against her from inside and he started thrusting harder.

Her cries filled the room, their bodies moving with a mind of their own. His own gasps met each deep thrust and he pulled her closer, fighting the urge to turn her over and just fucking have at it. A small voice in the back of his head reminded him of why he couldn’t do that and he rubbed her clit harder, his name falling like a litany from her lips as she met his thrusts.

He felt her clit getting harder underneath his ministrations, her wet passage sucking him in deeper and he felt his own orgasm building, quickly. Dean dug his face into her neck, his stubble scraping at her and he kissed her there roughly, nibbling at her skin. His pleasure spiked as his name came off her lips with a loud shout and he thrust into her harder, choked gasps falling from his throat as he rubbed her clit harder, feeling her body stiffen in anticipation.

He felt her shudder, her nails digging into his arm, as she came with a loud moan, her voice echoing in the room. He felt her creamy warmth flooding his fingers as pressed her hips back against him, moving faster and harder, thrusting into her wildly. She jerked against him as pressed his hand into her mound, her thighs squeezing together and he gasped her name loudly, the sensations of her body tightening around him pushing him over the edge and he came with a guttural shout, spurting into her as he thrust into her without preamble.

The flickering of the television decorated the wall they were facing as Dean slipped out and she let loose an unhappy moan. His wet, sticky fingers dragged up across her stomach and she shivered.

“Your leg okay?” he asked softly and she shifted against him, not moving said limb.

“I’m still mad at you,” she said tiredly, dodging the question and Dean smirked, pressing his face into her neck.

“I’d say another round as damn fine as that was will get me off the hook.”

“I don’t know,” Buffy mused, pressing her hips back against him, his already hardening and sticky member pressing back. “I see hours of work ahead for you.”

The End


	4. On Purpose

On Purpose

by Bre

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or parts of this storyline. They belong to the brains of The Whedon and The Kripke.  
Rating: M/FR21  
Author’s Notes: See “Damn Damned” for additional notes on this smutty series of ficlets.  
Author’s Notes 2: Thank you for the excellent response! The reviews, follows, favorites and recs really make my day! And I can’t lie, the more reviews from everyone telling me their thoughts just makes me want to write quicker!  
Author's Notes 3: This fic idea was given/requested by psychovampgurl/DeanRavenLove.

Author’s Notes 4: For the sake of this story, Buffy and Dean are hunters. This is a sequel to the story "Off The Hook."

Prompt: 023 Oral

Summary: Dean gets a little roughed up and he’s in a sour mood because of it. Enter Buffy with an early Christmas present.

*

“Fucking old TV,” he grumbled under his breath as the screen he was watching flickered before going black. He glared at the dark screen, willing it to turn back on. He could hear its irritated humming as it tried to bring the picture back but nothing happened for another moment and he rolled his eyes, laying his head back on the ratty recliner.

Dean Winchester closed his eyes, taking a shallow breath before popping an eye open to check and see if the TV was back. It wasn’t and he snarled at it. Damn Bobby and his lack of televisions. Honestly, the man had a whole backyard full of junk cars and the only TV he owned was a piece of crap that looked older than he was and which, unfortunately, lacked a remote.

Which meant if Dean wanted to fix anything right now, he had to move.

And he really didn’t want to move.

Shifting in the reclining chair, he groaned when he felt the sharp spike of pain on his left side stab through his chest; it was the kind of pain that literally took his breath away and he gritted his teeth before setting down once more. This was the only place in Bobby’s entire house he’d been able to find that was the least bit comfortable. It stopped him from rolling around like a bag of useless bones as he did whenever he started falling asleep on any horizontal surface.

And of course now he couldn’t fall asleep because he was sitting up and because the stupid TV wasn’t working. The annoying hum from the large beast on the other side of the room was starting to peeve him and he made an unhappy face in its general direction, his eyes never opening.

He vaguely heard something that sounded like a door closing from another part of Bobby’s old house. She was out and about, roaming around somewhere. Dean snorted as loudly as he could and with as much finesse as he could without moving - she better not find her hot little ass roaming around in here or he would have to get up and throw something at her, which was about the level of commitment he felt towards any movement of any kind.

“Goddamn woman,” he breathed, his voice laced with bitter anger and pain as he shifted in the chair again, immediately regretting it.

No, he changed his mind, she should come in. At least that way he could yell at her some more for her moronic move.

None of it was made better knowing she had done it on purpose. No matter how much she claimed that wasn’t what had happened, he knew. If all of her snide little remarks since he had cut her weren’t enough evidence, the fact that she had chosen the butt of her goddamn shotgun to jab into his ribs to get him out of the way was more than enough. She might as well have swung a bat into him for how hard she hit him - she had jammed the stock of her gun right into his ribs, right under his arm and right where she knew it would hurt the most...

All to “get him out of the way” because the “spirit had been coming.” Bull. Shit.

A gentle nudge would have sufficed instead of popping up next to him and ramming him in the side, making him fall over as the spirit passed right over him before disappearing again. And what the hell would the stupid smoky air have done to him anyway? She focused on “sinning children” - and yeah, he was one hell of a sinner but damn it, he hadn’t been cursing, stuffing pie in his face, screwing or basically being himself at that very moment... which meant that, while Buffy probably thought she had had good intentions, she had come up and hit him as hard as she could for no goddamn reason.

He would have rather felt that dead old woman’s ghostly fingers wrapping around his throat than this shit.

“Finally,” Dean grumbled under his breath as the picture on the TV started coming back to life.

You know what Sam would have done in that instance? Hit his shoulder. Yelled his name. Said, “Hey, look, a ghost.” Not run towards him and ram his shotgun into one hell of a tender spot on his body, knocking him over from the shock of the pain and leaving behind one hell of a nasty yellow bruise.

And so here he was, at Bobby’s empty house while the old man was out on a hunt, laid up upstairs in one of the rooms not full of ammo and books with the only crappy TV left on the planet, by himself, while Buffy did who the hell knew what. Dean had showered, gotten into his boxer briefs as well as he could without falling over from the blinding pain whenever he moved and made his way up here before shutting the door with a resounding slam.

So she knew that the entire tirade on the way over to Bobby’s hadn’t been the end of it.

Dean rolled his eyes at himself - since when had they become some weird, freaky married couple? It seemed like all they did anymore was fucking argue and then hide from each other until it blew over. It was so...

Disgustingly domestic. The worst part of that was he kept doing it to himself, like some masochistic asshole. Like he enjoyed it or some crap…

A soft rustle from outside the doorway caught his attention and he glanced at the door before shutting his eyes. He heard her hand on the doorknob before she turned it and he wished there was a remote to the TV because he would have thrown it as a deterrent.

The door opened as the screen on the TV finally came back to life with an I Love Lucy rerun. Dean’s eyes stayed closed, wanting her to just see him sleeping and go away.

You know, take a goddamn hint, he thought bitterly.

She didn’t and he heard her moving towards the TV, her bare feet brushing on the threadbare carpet of the room. He heard her pausing before she reached out and with a heavy click, shut the TV off, leaving only the light from the lamp next to him and dust particles.

She didn’t move.

“Buffy, go the hell away,” he grumbled, his voice low and she still didn’t move. He kept his eyes closed. “I’m not fucking joking.”

She still didn’t move; she didn’t say a word. Hell, she was barely breathing and Dean felt the flare in his chest as his eyes flew open, turning his hard glare on her. “Buffy, get the fuck-“

The words died on his lips as his jaw dropped at the sight of her. She was barely wearing anything but a red and green striped bra and panty set... and it was transparent. Very, very transparent. Barely visible. Barely... wearing anything. Dean absently felt his jaw trying to work as he finished the sentence with a lackluster, “Room.”

She shot him a little smile as his eyes followed the lines of her body: the bra was a full cup, covering her entire breast but it wasn’t necessary because he could see right through the red and green coloring. Her nipples were dark in the shadows of the room, standing out against the light material, poking through and hard. Dean swallowed, feeling his boxers getting tight, feeling his body responding naturally at the sight of his woman basically offering her body on a platter.

A see-through fucking platter.

His eyes continued down her taut stomach, across the scar here and there, across the pale skin and down to the matching panties. They had red and green frilly lacy borders, almost like a picture frame, drawing his eyes to the tiny triangle of dark hair hiding his most favorite place on the planet.

Dean’s mouth hung open as she stood before him. “Uh...”

“You like?” she asked softly, looking down at herself with darkened eyes and Dean felt his body hardening further. She still wore the heavy makeup she had had on earlier... it made her look darker, more sinful... way, way, way sexier. Logically, he had no idea why the hell that was but right now she looked like a sex kitten needing a good damn ravaging and his dick was standing tall and proud, ready to take on that task.

“Uh... yeah,” he replied, his eyes dancing back down her body, his chest tightening at the sight. His entire body tightened at the sight of her and he felt the blood rushing quicker as she took a step towards him. He took a deep breath, a large smile starting to form when his expanding lungs ran right into his very bruised and painful ribs and he let out a hiss of pain.

“Damn it,” he breathed, his hand flying to cover the wounded area, his eyes closing before he forced them open at the sound of her coming towards him, the pain fading into the background… His eyes trained right at the apex of her legs, watching her luscious thighs, as she moved and he felt his mouth watering slightly as he saw everything.

Every. Fucking. Thing.

And he wanted to see more.

She leaned over him, her face contorted with worry as her hand covered his.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tentative and soft and Dean took a shallow breath at the touch of her skin on his, his eyes flying down towards her breasts which were wonderfully closer. He cocked an eyebrow as he nodded slowly. His eyes ticked back to her as she bit her bottom lip uncertainly… and it was amazingly sexy as hell.

“Have I mentioned how sorry I am?” she asked.

Dean’s face was comically blank as he nodded and Buffy Summers watched him, her face growing warmer as his eyes hungrily stared at her. She sucked in her bottom lip, her fingers lacing through his where they both covered his side before she pulled his hand up. He grimaced slightly as he moved to settle in and she winced for him before thanking the wonders of the male brain.

It was almost magical how he had gone from enraged betrayal to enraptured lust.

Buffy barely remembered what had happened in the park except for seeing Grandma Sin-Be-Gone coming towards Dean and then she had been next to him, to get him out of the way... except she had used a little too much force. Not that much, at least she hadn’t thought so, until she saw the ugly black blemish on his side and the rage and hurt in his eyes.

All of that followed by the pained rants and barbs, everything hinged on him thinking she had done it on purpose. Because he had gotten her those couple of weeks ago.

She had immediately denied it before thinking... well, maybe _a little_.

Hence the bit of groveling she had planned. It was all helped by the Christmas lingerie she had found and the fact that there was nothing wrong with early Christmas presents.

“Because I am,” Buffy continued, her voice soft in the quiet room as she took his hand and placed it on her shoulder, holding it to her skin. She felt his fingers dragging across the strap of her bra and she shivered, goose bumps following the trail his fingers left as she moved his hand down. His breath hitched as he watched his hand moving toward her breast. She covered it with his, gripping her hand tight over it as he instinctually cupped her. She licked her lips as she watched him watch her. “Sorry…”

“Uh-huh,” Dean grumbled, swallowing as he massaged her breast through the transparent lace, the pebble of her nipple feeling so good on the palm of his hand; his dick felt painfully hard at the image of it thrusting between those gorgeous lumps. He swallowed again as her hand left his, trailing down his arm. He looked up at her face as she leaned down, towards him.

Dean’s eyes closed when her lips grazed his before she kneeled down in front of him, pushing his legs apart as she settled between them. Her hot body felt ridiculously good between his legs as she pressed him against her, enclosing herself between them. Her breath was hot on his lips as her nails dragged up his thighs and over his boxer briefs. He let out a soft whimper, his told on her breast tightening, when one nail scraped over the heavy bulge waiting for her.

“Buffy,” he breathed against her, overly aware of the fact that he was unable to just grab her and rip that stuff off and have his way with her. He felt a mixture of disappointment from being unable to move and a rush of lust at the thought of what she was doing down there… His other hand came up to her arm before she suddenly disappeared, pulling back.

He felt her fingers in the band of his boxers and everything else in the room faded away as she tugged on them gently, pulling them down. Dean didn’t hesitate, taking a deep, painful breath and lifting his hips to give her better access. His ribs responded in kind and he let out a pained curse as his dick popped out before she swiftly sat back, tugging them off his legs, leaving him buck-ass naked on the recliner.

“Sorry,” she whispered again and Dean couldn’t take his eyes off her as she leaned in, her hands still hot on his thighs, his body aching for them to move further up. She leaned forward, her eyes never leaving his before she ducked down. Her hair tickled his skin as she placed a soft kiss over his heart before moving over to place a gentle kiss on his bruised ribs. The slightest pressure should have made him extremely upset because of what had happened... instead, he felt an elated lust in his stomach at the thought of those lips wrapped around him and he growled her name as he felt her soft skin brushing...

His fingers found her hair, tangling in the tresses as she dropped kisses along his stomach, heading further south. He watched her, his pleasure spiking, as she dragged her lips across his body and down. It felt good, so damn good and he tightened his fingers into a fist, causing her to let out a rush of hot breath on his skin before going where he wanted her, where he needed her.

Buffy smiled against him, one hand coming up to his stomach while the other grabbed the base of his hard cock. Dean’s mouth hung open as he watched her, his body tightening with anticipation and he let out a little whimper, his eyes fluttering, when she breathed against him. One hand held the back of her head while the other dug into the arm of the chair, fighting the urge to just thrust up…

All his breath left him when she looked up at him from under her eyelashes, her mouth opening, her eyes never leaving his when she dipped down, her tongue darting out to taste him.

“Oh man,” he murmured, his breaths coming out in short bursts as her lips wrapped around him, her tongue dancing across the little slit, sucking him off a little. She moved down as she worked on taking his entire length in her mouth. Dean moaned as her tongue swirled around him, the hand on him already tightening. He jerked a little when her other hand found his balls, cupping them as her lips tightened around his dick, coming back up with hot delicious pleasure before taking his length into her mouth once more. His hand tightened in her hair as he watched her, mesmerized.

Not another damn thing mattered - it was goddamn beautiful as she leaned before him, wearing nothing but sexy as fuck Christmas colors, her head starting a slow bobbing motion as she sucked on his cock. Her lips would tighten in all the right spots, her tongue dancing around as she sucked on him, her hands massaging as he felt the back of her throat before she bounced back up.

Dean closed his eyes, wanting so badly to just grab her head and thrust into her mouth... He opened them again, hissing as she sucked on his dick, pulling it in deeper and he let out short breaths, unable to take his eyes off of her. His mind jumped ahead, his pleasure mounting at the thought of her naked, at the thought of his face between her legs, at the thought of her own fingers pleasuring herself.

Buffy suddenly paused, sucking him in as deep as she could, relaxing her throat before flexing and Dean gasped her name, his fingers tugging on her hair as he thrust her head down, thrusting up against her lips at the sensation.

“Don’t stop, baby, just like that,” he murmured in a broken voice. He absently wondered why he wasn’t feeling any pain - hell, feeling anything at all but the delicious warmth of her mouth and then there wasn’t anything else but Buffy’s mouth, her tongue, the heat, the warmth... the thought of her tongue wrapping around his cock as she sucked on him. Dean felt himself tightening as he held the back of her head as he thrust up slightly; she moved to match his rhythm, sucking in time with him.

“Touch yourself,” he grunted, his eyes dark and heated and Buffy responded immediately, one hand flying to her breast where she cupped herself before tugging on her nipple. Dean’s breathing got heavy as he watched, gritting his teeth.

“Play with yourself,” he continued and Buffy was already moving ahead of him, her hand grazing down her stomach before she shoved her hand into her panties, her fingers finding her slick clit. She let out a low moan that vibrated straight through Dean’s core and he moaned in return, his pleasure mounting quickly as he stared at the hand in her panties, barely visible over the chair but his mind made up the difference, imaging what her fingers were doing as she sucked on him, hard.

He felt his balls tightening, his body getting hotter, every ounce of blood in his body rushing towards her mouth and he didn’t give two rat’s asses what the fuck was wrong with his body as he held her head in his hand, pushing her mouth down on him as he thrust into it. He felt her relaxing as he jabbed against the back of her throat slightly, the vibrations of her moans making everything amplified and he thrust up quicker. Quicker, faster... harder...

“Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop,” he whispered, thrusting into her mouth and she suddenly let her teeth graze the sides of his shaft, a hot shot of pleasure-laced pain shooting through him as she squeezed his balls.

“Oh god, Buffy,” he groaned, throwing his head back as he fucked her mouth, his pace quickening, her lips getting tighter as she let him thrust into her… Dean came with a shout, shooting his load into her waiting mouth. Buffy sucked it down, her lips tightening as she milked him before he collapsed bodily in the chair, breathing in quickly, moaning his pleasure. His hand still cupped the back of her head when she released him, his limp member falling over and Dean opened his eyes in time to see her licking her lips, a content smile on her face when she looked up at him.

Dean felt his body hardening all over again at the sight and he cupped her cheek, using his grip on her head to pull her up where he slammed his lips on hers. He more felt than heard her moan, her nails digging into his thighs as she returned the kiss. She tasted like a mixture of both of them - a goddamn sexy thing...

“Damn,” he breathed, pulling back with a sloppy smile before collapsing back in the chair. Buffy licked her lips and he grinned at her. He really loved when she did that... Buffy returned his smile.

Dean was pleased as pie when he stretched a little and he didn’t feel quite as sharp a spike of pain from his ribs. His body was languid, relaxed... Dean tugged on Buffy further, pulling her up on the chair.

“Dean, no, I don’t want to hurt you,” she said.

“Get the hell up here,” he replied, pulling her up on his right, uninjured side. She sat against him gingerly and Dean wrapped his arm around her waist. His other hand traced up her thigh to her center, his finger finding the band of her panties as he looked up at her. She was staring at his hand before looking at him.

“You got a little more apologizing to do,” he said with a rakish grin before pulling her head down for a kiss.

The End

*

Tried a bit of a different writing technique with this one, hope it was liked!

If anybody has any requests for this series, I will gladly hear them! Since I have 96 more prompts to write for, I'm sure there is one in there that will match anything you guys have in mind. And if you don't see it right away, that doesn't mean it's not in the mix somewhere. Thanks to pscyhovampgurl for this fun idea of supposed "retaliation."


	5. No Goodbye

No Goodbye

by Bre

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or parts of this storyline. They belong to the brains of The Whedon and The Kripke.  
Rating: M/FR21  
Feedback: Always appreciated! :)  
Author’s Notes: See “Damn Damned” for additional notes on this smutty series of ficlets. (Please keep in mind that I will tell you when a ficlet is in any way connected to another ficlet - I only mention this because this story might have similar circumstances to another.)  
Author’s Notes 2: **Thank you** for the excellent response! The reviews, follows and favorites really make my day!  
Author's Notes 3: Sometimes RL has the tendency to leak into my writing. In other news, I sometimes don't like men. It happens from time to time, I suppose. I needed something angsty to channel into and this was the result.

Author’s Notes 4: For the sake of this story, Buffy is the Slayer and Dean is a hunter. Please consider this an “alternate reality” - it does not follow canon.

Prompt: 006 Gentle

Summary: Sometimes it’s too hard to let go and dig out of the mess.

*

No goodbye.

Just a glance over his shoulder before the familiar roar of the engine cut into the night.

And then nothing but taillights.

And then nothing but the smoke from his exhaust in the chilly air.

And then... nothing.

*

Four hours and thirty-three minutes.

The phone rang. She ignored it.

Her phone blinked with one voicemail.

Four hours and thirty-five minutes...

She never listened to it.

*

One hundred and seventeen days.

Give or take a few hours.

A few minutes or so…

One hundred and seventeen days since the last time she had seen him walking through this cemetery.

The crappy thing about being a human being, even the Slayer? Her memory sucked. She got flashes of his legs when she looked down at the ground to avoid a grave. She heard the squish of his biker boots in the soft mud when they neared that mausoleum that looked like it was sinking into the ground. She could see the five o'clock shadow he never cleanly shaved out the corner of her eye on his sharp jaw, the light catching on his blonde hairs...

But that was it. She remembered the feeling of standing next to him, remembered watching him look around before he winked at her after saying yet another lewd thing that had made her roll her eyes.

But she couldn't remember what he said.

She couldn’t remember the way his lips formed when he talked.

She couldn't remember his eyes although she remembered the feeling when he watched her…

It was seriously pissing her off.

Buffy Summers rammed her fists into the vampire's face, enjoying the sound of the bone of his nose crunching into a wet mulch. Her knuckles sang with the glorious feel of death at her fingertips as she pulled her arm back, quicker than he could see, and rammed her fist back into his nose. Blood gushed almost immediately as the vampire roared, rearing back and knocking her away from him. He fell on his ass as Buffy tried to gain her feet back beneath her but the vamp's friend was already there, waiting for its moment.

Buffy felt the air fly from her lungs violently as the vampire tackled her from the side, knocking her to the ground with a heavy grunt that left her chest aching painfully. The vampire didn't give her a second to relax though as it pulled her onto her back, straddling her arms under his knees before ramming his fist into her face.

The pain was thunderous as his knuckles hit her cheekbone perfectly and her head rocked to the right. She pushed past it, swinging her head back and kicking her legs up to catch him but he leaned over her further, a feral grin on his lips. He pulled his lips back, hissing at her - a mixture of a hiss and a chuckle - and Buffy grimaced when a few drops of spittle landed on her lips.

"Okay, ew," she grunted, her face twisted with disgust as the vampire giggled on top of her. He reached forward, his fingers tangling into her hair. Buffy felt a dull spike of fear and worry shatter through her heart but it barely registered in her brain as she tightened her jaw, waiting…

The vampire leaned in, inhaling quickly before diving into her neck and Buffy met him halfway, thrusting her head against his. His fingers instantly loosened as he shot back on instinct, his hands cradling his face and Buffy took advantage, swinging her legs up and kicking him in the back of the head before bucking him off of her.

She moved quickly, efficiently - no time was wasted as she grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him up before flipping him over so he landed on his back with an angry sound, the grass crumbling underneath him. Buffy was already there, her stake already embedded in chest and he exploded into fine, white ash.

With a grimace, she wiped her face, spreading the remains of the vamp all over her cheek. She heard the distinct sound of a heavy footfall in the grass behind her but she let them think she was distracted as she wiped her face with her other hand, making a face when she saw the vampire had exploded at her instead of into the wet ground.

“So not good for dry cleaning,” she mumbled before ducking, the vampire attacking from behind. “You guys got insurance for this kind of thing?”

The sound of empty air moving above her head reached her ears as she whipped around, her fist already flying into the vampire’s stomach. He doubled over and Buffy grabbed his head, ready to come up and ram her knee into his face when that familiar cramp tickled her in her stomach, dancing along her spine, alerting her to more baddies. She didn’t have time to react though as the vamps converged on her. Her knee had enough time to slam into the vampire’s already mottled nose before she felt clawed hands grabbing her shoulders.

One wrenched on her arm, dragging her back violently and she let out a sharp cry, the feeling of the tendons in her shoulder pulling and tearing, making it feel like someone was pouring hot acid into her bone. The other grabbed the back of her neck, yanking her head back with his other hand, ripping hair from her scalp and she lost her footing, the double pain blinding as she fought to get free. But it only tugged worse and she stopped, breathing heavily as the vampire’s dragged her back, slamming her against a large headstone.

“Ow, guys, seriously!” she snapped, her spine aching as they dragged her on top of it, keeping her still for just a moment - long enough for the vamp with the twice-broken nose to jump on top of her, his mouth open, his fangs glistening in the night.

Now would probably be the time she’d hear the shout, hear her name from his lips when he realized she was really in trouble. And then he would whip out his completely useless gun and shoot the vamp, only angering it... but giving her enough time to recover...

There was no shout.

There was no frightened intake of breath.

There was just her heavy breathing in the cold night, her breath steaming in front of her as she stared at the vampire hovering over her. The vamps on each side of her pulled on her arms harder, at horrible angles, enough to keep her still, keep her from moving.

She was pretty sure the thought, “This isn’t good,” should be rolling through her head but it wasn’t. All she felt was a strange numb alertness, knowing that she had to wait until she could make her move... bide her time. There was no fear this time, no concern... only the hunt, only biding her time...

The vamp on top of her leaned in, digging his face into her neck and Buffy felt a violent shiver of disgust roar through her system as he inhaled her scent quickly. He leaned in over her body and she felt the length of his dead flesh against her own... cold, harsh and bitter. Buffy gritted her teeth, closing her eyes, waiting...

“I hear Slayer blood is the most delicious elixir you’ll ever taste,” he whispered in her ear, his breath surprisingly hot against her skin and Buffy could smell the decay of his breath filtering around her. She didn’t speak, didn’t move. Let him think... “I’m gonna suck you dry, pretty thing, and then I’m gonna keep this dead little body of yours and rip it to shreds. From the inside out.”

A shot of ice shattered in her chest but Buffy merely angled her head away to escape his unpleasant breath as he licked his lips against her throat. She shuddered underneath him as he pressed his body against her again and she felt his arousal, felt his hardness against her hip where he leaned over her and her body revolted internally. Against her will, splashes of images rained through her mind, memories of another body, a warm body, a human, pressing against her, making her cry out... Buffy bit the tip of her tongue, closing her eyes and pushing the thoughts back.

There was no more him. He was no longer here. He had left. Left her to be alone in this fight.

And fight she damn well would. Let him get complacent, think they had won…

The vamp hissed against her skin, his hand running up the side of her body, his clawed nails catching on her jacket before dipping underneath the cloth, wrapping his arm around her waist and lifting her slightly. The vamps on either side of her didn’t budge, their feral grins lighting the night, and the movement caused her shoulders to wrench farther back and she let out a sharp intake of breath...

“That’s right,” the vampire on top of her whispered against her neck and Buffy felt a shot of adrenaline hit her when she felt one of his fangs grazing her neck. She didn’t have time to think, to retaliate. She didn’t have time to make sure her legs worked, that she could move them up and kick them out... before he sank his fangs into her throat.

It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. A sharp, harsh light broke beneath her eyelids as his fangs sank into her throat, a white hot pain erupting before she felt the sensation of her life force being pulled out of her. It hurt, it burned...

“Buffy!”

Buffy opened her eyes in time to see a blur of black coming from the side and tackling the vampire on top of her, ripping him off, ripping the fangs from her throat and she let out a harsh cry before using the surprise to her advantage. She yanked her right arm free, knocking the vampire back before swinging over and punching the other one. It was quick work after that as she rolled to the ground, landing gracefully, the second stake already in hand before it was buried in his chest. The look of angered surprise was the last thing she saw before he burst into dust and she grabbed the stake, vaulting the headstone and doing the same to the other.

The cool air felt like freezer burn on the hot blood leaking from the wound in her neck as she breathed into the night, her heart pumping, her eyes dulling...

“Buffy!”

A female voice rang out and Buffy moved, grabbing the vampire that had tasted her off of Xander and yanking him back. He fell to the ground and Buffy leapt on him, ignoring the people behind her as she pressed her stake into his chest. She dipped down, her lips pulled back in a feral grin of her own as the vampire’s eyes widened, some of her blood still smeared on his lips.

She didn’t say anything, just met his eyes, digging the stake a little deeper into his chest. Taunting him… reminding him that she had won… His eyes bulged and she watched him, watching the hatred melt into realization before she smirked, digging the stake down.

He exploded into dust and she fell into it, landing softly on the ground.

A long, heavy moment passed where she sat on the ground, the stake still tight in her fist. She licked her lips, rubbing her eyes before she heard the shuffle of unsure feet on the ground behind her and she stiffened before standing.

“Buffy?”

“I told you guys to stay away from here,” was all she said, shoving the stake into the back of her pants. She turned, her face twisted with anger, glaring at her friends. “I don’t-“

“What?” Xander cut in, his voice sharp as a knife and she felt it cut into her. She turned away, shaking her head. It was the same thing, over and over... “You don’t need help? Buffy, he was drinking from you! What the hell was that? I would say that qualifies as needing some help!”

Buffy didn’t bother responding. She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes still hard.

“Buffy,” Willow started. She took a step forward before stopping. She was staring at Buffy’s throat. She didn’t make any effort to hide it. “You need... help. I mean-“

“I had it,” she said dryly, dismissively. She turned. “The next time I tell you guys to stay away from here, I mean it. I’m not always going to be there to save you and I won’t have your deaths on my hands.”

“Buffy!” Xander shouted after her and she didn’t pause. “Killing yourself isn’t going to bring him back, you know.”

Buffy stopped. She stopped walking, stopped breathing as she clenched her hands into fists. She heard Willow smacking Xander’s arm but he ignored her. “You think your life means that little without him? That’s not the Buffy I know… that’s not the girl I went to school with... You’re spiraling out of control, Buff, come on... Let us help you.”

Buffy rolled her eyes before walking away again.

“I’m fine,” she said over her shoulder. “Go home.”

*

Two hundred and ninety-two days.

Four hours and fifteen minutes...

The music pounded around her, filling her ears with a heavy beat. The crowd in The Bronze was thick tonight, some sort of festival bringing a whole bunch of college lunkheads to their small town. She didn’t mind. She liked it.  
She liked the dancing. She liked letting go, she liked being free. It was easier to not think, to not exist when there was music. Her body moved naturally, quickly, her arms lifting in the air, her hips swaying provocatively. Nothing existed but the music, the hot bodies around her. She felt hands touching her, felt bodies pressing against her but nothing stopped her. Just the heavy beat, the band on the stage nothing more than the musical notes they emitted.

Two hundred and ninety-two days since she had looked over and saw him sitting at one of the tables, staring at her. He was a ghost in her memory, even more so now. He was a shape with sharp eyes - sharp, mossy eyes that darkened the longer he watched her dance... but nothing more.

He was smoke in her mind, losing substance... disappearing, fading...

So Buffy danced. To remember what it felt like to have his hands on her body, his whiskers scratching her neck, his dry lips sucking on her ear before nipping at her lips. Bursts of him came through at a time and they were the most heavy when she danced. When she closed her eyes and could pretend that the random men touching her were him. Pretend their hands were his, that he was dancing behind her, grabbing her hips and pulling her into him, nestling her ass against his hardness, rubbing against her...

Buffy blinked her eyes open, feeling the arms from behind wrapping around her waist. She ignored the jolt in her stomach that said this wasn’t him; this wasn’t the only man she allowed to do this. She forced herself to smile, to melt back against him. She closed her eyes, willing his hands to be there, the hands she wanted… willing herself to believe...

She felt them come up, his fingers dancing against her ribs before flitting over her breasts. Her nipples hardened as she remembered someone else’s fingers doing that... the hands on her body moved lower, rubbing against her firm stomach before one grabbed her hip and the other moved further down, grazing the seam against her center.

It wasn’t him.

It was never him.

She reacted without thinking.

Buffy turned in the faceless man’s arms, her arm already reeling back, her fingers clenching into their familiar shape and then she punched him in the nose.

“What the fuck?” the man shouted, his hands cradling his face as he doubled over in pain. His shouts were barely heard over the sound of the music and only the people surrounding them saw what happened, a mixture of horror and hilarity on their faces.

Buffy realized she was breathing harshly, painfully; her skin was tingling and she felt that familiar course of hot anger in her stomach as she glared at the man.

“Don’t touch me,” she said softly before shoving her way through the crowd and out of the club.

*

Four hundred and thirty-three days.

She’d heard the rumors about this city. She hadn’t lived here since before she was called. She hadn’t had the opportunity to actually go hunting here.

And god, did her fingers crave the hard wood of her stake, the delight of shoving her fist into a vampire’s face, making him hurt, making him bleed for the victims he had taken before staking him. Another one gone, another one dusted...

But she hadn’t run into a vampire in over three hours. And she was getting antsy.

She didn’t want to go home. Her dad was out, working... had to fly somewhere for an emergency meeting. Left her at the house alone.

Alone.

She didn’t like being alone.

Too many thoughts seeped in, too many thoughts crowding.

So she went out to hunt.

Buffy looked around, slapping her hand against her thigh impatiently. She saw a man walk into an alley, dressed in a shabby, black coat and limping slightly. She pulled short, waiting, holding her breath for the familiar sounds of struggling... but there was nothing. Just the sound of his foot dragging along the concrete as he made his way towards what was probably his temporary home.

She should probably feel bad that she wished something would attack him because it would give her something to do… but she didn’t.

The stakes snuggled inside the band of her jeans felt hot against her skin, making her all too aware that she had wandered around this city for hours with not one bit of action. It was almost one in the morning; the crowds were starting to dwindle. The hookers were finding their Johns or sitting down, getting out of the cold. The prowlers were rubbing their hands together, the bitter bite of cold driving them inside.

But weren’t vampires dead aka cold-blooded? Then why the hell weren’t there any out here?

Pulling short, Buffy rolled her head, hearing her neck crack. She looked up, the loud glare of red neon indicating a rundown sports bar called Second Base.

She was tired. She did want to sit down. And maybe their kitchen was still open, get some food. She hadn’t eaten since the night before, she realized.

Buffy swung the door open, the handle feeling greasy under her fingers and she entered, walking with purpose towards the bar, ignoring the looks of the spare patrons. Grabbing a seat on a torn barstool, she placed her hands on the bar. The wood felt sticky, the fake leather padding along the edge torn and stained.

“What’ll you have, cutie?” the bartender asked, smiling at her. He was missing three teeth. Buffy didn’t think twice. She ordered whiskey, double and neat...

It was what he used to order. It came out without a second thought before she realized she didn’t drink whiskey. But who the hell cared - she wasn’t home. She wasn’t anywhere where she had to put on a front. Her skin was thrumming with the need to do something, anything... maybe this was enough to dull her senses so she could go to her dad’s... fall into a dreamless sleep.

An escape.

She looked around the bar, shifting on her chair. There was a young couple in one corner and in a booth, an older man in a rumpled suit sat with a woman who was barely covering her breasts in what she would probably call a shirt. The bartender set her drink down and she threw a couple bills on the bar, sipping at the amber liquid. She ignored the stab of remembrance in her chest as she looked at the glass... a small glass, one he might have gotten...

For a split second, Buffy let herself wonder where he was. Was he driving right now? Where was Sam, were they still hunting together? What about their dad, had they found their dad? What kind of trouble had they run into? Had he thought about calling her, had he thought about her at all...

Buffy slammed that door in her mind, immediately pushing the thoughts down and away... she didn’t like the way they felt anymore. At first, it had been comforting. Now it felt like she was drinking acid as the tears that she never let come welled in the back of her throat...

The whiskey tasted like absolute crap but she forced it down in a tiny sip, setting it down before closing her eyes. She should eat but she wasn’t hungry. She felt empty, like a cavernous waste of space inside... The second and third drink of the whiskey wasn’t nearly as bad as the first and it went down easily enough after that.

Her body was already warming and she licked her lips, stretching her shoulders. She looked up and noticed a big screen TV in the corner, showing something sports-related.

“Another?”

“Uh... sure,” she said, swallowing thickly as the whiskey already started working through her system. Is this what he felt when he drank? This thickening warmth slowly spreading from her belly and stomach and into her limbs, making her thoughts feel looser, easier?

Buffy closed her eyes, running a hand through her hair. She heard the plink of her glass being set down once again and she dug into her pocket, grabbing a few bucks and throwing them onto the bar again. She didn’t know how much it cost and she didn’t care. She had probably tipped him three times over...

Buffy took another sip, a longer sip, and looked up.

And straight into those same green eyes that had been haunting her for months.

Buffy couldn’t stop the surprised sound that escaped her lips or the quick intake of air that tightened her throat. Her fingers gripped her glass painfully before she set it down, her hand shaking. Her eyes never left his where he sat on the opposite side of the bar. Her eyes danced around the bar for a moment before coming back to him, her breathing picking up before she sucked in her bottom lip, biting it painfully. She watched his eyes dart down to her mouth and she felt the warmth from the liquor spurning her insides as they melted a bit, watching the familiar way his eyes darkened and she knew that look...

He was wearing that familiar red plaid shirt, a dark t-shirt underneath... his leather jacket on the chair back. A glass of something amber in front of him. Just like always. She was sure he had his gun in the pocket of his jacket but another tucked into his boot and a knife in the other. He never went anywhere without something on him...

“Oh god,” she breathed, her voice cracking, looking away. A rush of emotion slammed into her chest and she closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing before she pushed off the counter, standing clumsily. He hadn’t moved and Buffy didn’t look to see if he was still there. She left her half-finished glass and was heading to the door when a warm hand grabbed her arm, stopping her.

She spun quickly to see him right behind her... so close... touching her, his fingers digging into her arm gently as he held her.

“Buffy,” he said, a slight smile on his lips and Buffy felt her heart cracking as everything since he had left her - every single thing she had felt, she had cried, she had laughed, she had whimpered - came roaring through her and she felt like collapsing on the floor... his fingers felt like they were searing her through her jacket and she wanted nothing more than to turn into his arms and let him touch her more before sinking into the floor...

“Where you running off to?” he asked, his voice slightly slurred and she closed her eyes, the familiar drawl of his words wreaking havoc... she shook her head, trying to find words...

“I’m not running,” was all she could manage, her voice deceptively soft... “I’m not... running.”

Buffy felt her heart stutter when his fingers tightened on her arm and she looked down at where he held her. Nothing else in the bar mattered for a moment as that wonderful warmth she always got when he touched started to spread... it leaked through her arm and into her blood system, running rampant through her system. She felt her body coming to life once more, awakening as if from a deep slumber, waking up to find that the one man she had been waiting for was right here again.

He was here.

She was here.

She wasn’t dreaming...

She had to be drunk.

“I... have to go,” she blurted, shaking her head and Dean frowned at her. She frowned back, trying to remember the last year. Longer than the last year... she tried to remember the last time she had seen him. She tried to remember the way her entire chest felt like it had been caving in, like someone had driven a spike through her heart and kept battering it deeper and deeper, driving her apart... But all she saw was his face. Memories slammed through her of that very face, the way he laughed, the way he snorted when she turned on Bon Jovi, the way he rolled his eyes when she ordered water for him, the way he took her bacon...

The way his lips felt on hers, the way his hands roamed across her body like he owned it, like it was his... because it was.

“Dean,” she breathed, not realizing it before she snapped her mouth shut. She closed her eyes, shaking her head. She tugged her arm away.

She hadn’t said his name in well over a year. She hadn’t let herself even think it. She hadn’t let herself remember that she loved his name, that it matched him perfectly, her gorgeous and damaged Dean.

Buffy stepped back, shaking her head before glancing once more at his face. His brow was furrowed as he watched her and she felt the door on her back. She had nothing to say before she turned and ran.

She was out the door and walking away as fast as she could.

The one bar. The one damn bar in the entire city she happened to walk into and it was his. The one he had chosen. In this city nonetheless. How long had he been here? Just a few hours away from her, so close but so far away? How often had he come so near her and done nothing about it?

Buffy clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms as she felt the hot burn of tears. No, she wouldn’t cry, she couldn’t. He may have left her broken but damn it, she had glued those pieces together as best she could. She was just a caricature of herself but she was... whole... with holes...

Buffy wiped her eyes angrily before turning into an alley. Through the blur of her tears, she saw a set of large garbage cans and she went up to them and kicked one. It screeched with the tear of metal as garbage scattered throughout the alley, the can falling over with a loud thump.

It didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

Nothing helped then and nothing would help now.

Buffy leaned down and grabbed the other can, throwing it against the opposite wall, feeling a hot course of tears down her cheek and she let out a broken sob as the can crashed into the wall with a loud scream of metal. Another sob came loose as her skin burned where he had touched her... her lips ached to be touched by his, her arms ached to hold him, to be held by him... her body screamed for his, wanted to go back, wanted to give herself to him, damn the consequences, damn the fact that she would just have to start all over the next morning... gluing the pieces back together without rhyme or reason...

Suddenly someone grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean asked, his voice angry as he gripped her shoulders and Buffy’s breathing picked, feeling him so close. What was she doing?

What was she doing?

She shook her head, her face twisting into a sad anger as she tried to pull away from him. His face was unreadable; he didn’t let her go. Instead, his fingers tightened on her shoulder, his own breathing picking up and Buffy knew it was as simple as shoving him away and running. Running as far as she could but... she couldn’t.

She didn’t want to.

The air between them was magnetic, electric as they just stared at each other and before Buffy could tell him to get away from, to stop touching her, to get out of her life like he so desperately wanted to before, he pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her painfully and he slammed his lips against her.

Buffy moaned, reacting instinctively as his lips ravaged hers. His stubble was rougher than she remembered, scratching against her face as she met his kiss with just as much force, grabbing his jacket in her fists and pulling him in as close as she could. Her body erupted in joy as his arms wrapped around her, hugging her to him painfully.

It felt so good. It felt so right.

Her body immediately melted into his, yielding to his as he picked her up, pulling her closer. Buffy moaned again, her teeth crashing into his. A hot, slick warmth flooded her and she felt her sex starting to throb as one of his hands moved down to her ass, pulling her up and closer. God, it felt so good, so right... he was grabbing her, holding her, forcing her to kiss him back and she wanted nothing more...

*

She remembered the drive over to her dad’s house. She remembered the way the cool leather of his seats felt as he sped there, not giving either of them time to question what was about to happen… to turn back, to make it stop.

He got out, ushering her out and waiting impatiently for her to open the front door before his lips were on hers again.

He tasted the same. Like stale alcohol, like gun powder, something earthy and all Dean. Her Dean...

They made it up the stairs to her room... he slammed the door shut behind them as she ripped her jacket off before tugging his off, her fingers immediately finding his shirt and ripping it up and off. Clothes hit the floor haphazardly before her knees felt the edge of the bed and she fell on it, scooting up to the top, his dark eyes watching her.

His scars were still there, his body bruised and battered, just like always…

And then everything slowed down to a painful crawl the moment he crawled on top of her.

Buffy felt like screaming and crying simultaneously as his next kiss seared her straight through her heart. It was gentle and thorough... he took his time this time, his hands cupping her head. She felt him drag his thumb across her cheek before it dug into her hair, his lips... loving her.

Buffy wanted to pull back and punch him but her body reacted without thought, arching into him where he hovered over her between her thighs. She pulled her legs up, cradling him, locking her ankles behind him, wishing she had worn something thinner than jeans so she could feel him more.

She arched into his chest, her nipples digging painfully against her bra and she felt one of his hands moving down, tracing the contours of her body gently... lovingly... before he dipped it underneath her shirt. Buffy broke the kiss with a gasp, her eyes closing as sensations assaulted her. His fingers were rough and calloused against her soft skin, feeling so good, so wonderful... just like she remembered. His fingers traced her ribs, his mouth finding her jaw and dipping down to her throat as he dug his fingers underneath her bra.

“Oh god,” she whimpered, her body on fire as she felt the tears welling. Everything was happening so fast, so quick… and it all felt so good, so right. Buffy felt like her head was spinning as his hand cupped her breast, her nipple already hard and yearning for more, rubbing against his palm and she thrust up against his hard, denim-covered cock. She could feel how ready he was, how good it felt to be underneath him, pressing against her... wanting her, needing her the way she needed him...

God, how she had needed him. Needed this. How right it felt, how perfect...

Her lips moved to form his name, to beg him to hurry, to take her, to make her feel just the way she had wanted to feel for so long... but she bit her lip, stopping herself.

Suddenly his lips were on her ear, tugging her earlobe between his teeth and she gasped, her hands tangling in his hair. He breathed harshly against her, rubbing his cheek against hers before his lips found hers and then everything else was a slow, torturous blur. He somehow got her shirt off, her bra off and then he was leaning back, tugging her jeans away. He unzipped her boots and they were gone and she was left in nothing but her panties as he dipped back down...

He kissed her... gently, again. Painfully gently and she felt tears welling in the back of her throat.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This was supposed to be angry, hard... painful. Something to match the anger she had been carrying around for so long but it wasn’t that... it was more. So much more and so much damn harder.

“Please,” she breathed against his lips, pulling back, her voice full of the tears she fought to hold in. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning away from him as she felt one escape, burning along her temple. “I can’t...”

“Shh,” he whispered, his lips soft against her throat before he turned her to face him. “Please, let me...”

And that was it. His lips claimed hers once more, lovingly. Gently. Painfully... amazing and she shuddered beneath him, her body moving against his on instinct as another tear escaped.

She wanted to be angry. She wanted him to be angry and she wanted him to hurt her; she wanted to hurt him. The way he had hurt her so long ago... the way she had thought she wanted to... but her heart filled to the brim as he continued to kiss her like he used to... like he used to when he made love to her...

She fought back the gasp of his name she felt coming, biting her lips painfully, as his hand moved down her body. She felt him cupping her breast, his lips moving against hers before he continued down. His hand was flat against her taut stomach, loving, and he brushed her skin, causing goose bumps to erupt in their wake. His fingers found the hem of her panties and her breath hitched under his kiss, her heart pounding in her ears before his fingers dipped into her panties.

She whimpered against him when his fingers found her wetness and he groaned in appreciation when he felt how ready she was. His fingers danced across her little lips, rubbing across her clit before he dipped a finger into her. Her tight channel clenched around him and she dug her nails into his shoulders, thrusting her hips up and against him. Her legs came up, his finger going deeper as he rubbed his palm against her clit. It felt like someone was stoking a hot fire as he curled his finger, adding another, stretching her.

She had waited. She hadn’t had anyone else since him... she couldn’t... bear the thought of someone else...

She felt his finger rubbing slightly before he found the right spot and Buffy whimpered loudly into his mouth, losing herself for a moment as a bone-deep pleasure started in the pit of her stomach, spreading quickly as he rubbed her gently, his palm still stroking her clit.

Buffy felt the pressure building quickly as she thrust into his hand, her nails digging into him, meeting his tongue play for play... he knew exactly what to do. Exactly how to touch her to turn her into jelly, to turn her pliant and needing. She felt the roughness of his jeans as she thrust into his hand, feeling his hardness rubbing against her thigh.

She was building fast, losing sense of everything around her as he rubbed the spot harder, quicker and she broke the kiss, arching into him as her arms circled his neck, pulling him closer, as close as she could get him.

Buffy bit the tip of her tongue, his name aching to explode from her lips, her eyes closed as she rode his hand, as his fingers played her skillfully... the pressure built, she felt it coming, the pleasure blossoming deeper and deeper, waiting...

“Oh god... De...” Buffy gave out a sharp cry as she came, her back arching off the bed as he continued to rub her, his palm pushing against her and she shuddered beneath him, the waves of pleasure rolling through her. She felt her juices flooding his hand as her channel clenched his fingers, pulling them deeper, wanting more... Her fingers clenched him close to her, the feeling of his hot breath on her neck making everything vivid, more... painful... as he let her ride out her orgasm against him...

Everything was fuzzy as Dean pulled his fingers out and she couldn’t stop the slight whimper falling from her throat when he pulled up and off of her. She opened her eyes, feeling the bed shift and she watched him pull his jeans off, followed by his boxers before he leaned down and tugged her panties off. She felt limp, powerless against him as he spread her legs, running his hands down her thighs... almost reverently... before he settled on top of her...

“Buffy,” he whispered and she felt her heart crack, her arms instantly winding around him, her legs coming up to cradle him as he pressed the head of his cock against her hot opening. It was slick and ready, she felt him slipping against her before he found it and then he slowly... too slowly... pressed into her.

The sweetest torture... so sweet and... loving... it was torture as he moved into her gently, pressing himself in to the hilt. Buffy breathed harshly against his chest, her eyes squeezed shut, savoring the sensation of him inside her once more... filling her... her Dean, always her Dean...

“Dean,” she whispered without thought, her lips pressing against his shoulder. He pulled out gently and thrust back in, filling her all over again and she arched into him. Her hands found the back of his head, pulling him in closer... How she had waited for this... how she had needed this, needed him... “Please...”

“Buffy,” he whispered once more, his breath hot and wet on her neck before his lips were on hers and then he thrust back into her, deeper, and she mewled against him, her lips moving against his...

It felt like an eternity of his easy thrusts, filling her, letting her feel him, letting him savor each one... it felt so right, so familiar and so damn good... a tear snaked from Buffy’s eye as he whispered her name in her ear again... Buffy’s chest felt like bursting as she dug her nails into his skin, closing her eyes against the onslaught of pain she knew was waiting... it would wait.

It could wait. She had him now, he was hers once again...

The build was slower this time, matching his tender thrusts. She felt his hands moving down her sides before coming up, cradling her, hugging her to him. He didn’t quicken his pace, he didn’t thrust any harder... he... made love to her and Buffy fought the sob that wanted to come up.

He pressed his forehead against hers, his lips hovering over hers and she felt more tears escaping. She arched into him, the slow fire building getting hotter as he angled himself against her. She let out a quiet cry, followed by a tiny sob and then he was kissing her, pushing her into the mattress, closing in around her. Loving her, holding her...

Buffy came gently, his name falling from her lips before she could stop it, her body arching into his as the gentle waves rolled over her. His hips moved faster against her, inflaming her tender skin before his fingers tightened in her hair, his body tensed and he thrust once more, deeply, letting himself go inside her with a soft cry of his own, her name falling from his lips before he fell on top of her.

She welcomed his heavy weight, cradling him against her, feeling his softening member inside and wishing - wishing painfully for just one moment - that time would stop and they could stay like that forever... just... her Dean.

His skin was hot underneath hers where she traced her fingers, his breathing slowing down and for just a second, everything was fine again...

Before he lifted himself up and rolled off of her.

Buffy felt her chest tightening and she bit her lip. She pulled her legs together and turned on her side, digging her face into her pillow. This was the moment where the awkward silence came in...

Where he stood without a word... put on his clothes and left... all over again…

Buffy couldn’t hold back the sob as she dug her face into the pillow, forcing herself to be quiet as more tears came. She felt the bed shifting next to her, felt the heat of his body behind her but he didn’t touch her. That only made it worse...

He didn’t say a word before she felt his hand on her waist, gently moving up to her shoulder. How she wanted him to just hug her, be hers... His fingers brushed over his neck before pausing over the scar she had from that vamp... it had never healed. It was large and ugly from where the fangs had been ripped from her throat and he lifted her hair, using the light of the moon to look at it. She stiffened, paused... waiting...

He didn’t say anything but she heard the sharp intake of breath when he realized what it was. He let her hair back down to cover it as his hand moved down her shoulder again.

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut when he pressed his lips to her shoulder before he turned her around. His fingers found her cheek, brushing away her tears and then he kissed her, again. Gently... lovingly...

And Buffy fell back into his arms... let him wipe away her tears... let him hold her, make love to her all over again... because she needed him. Needed all of him and she didn’t care how she got it...

_“I love you...”_

*

The first thing Buffy was aware of when she awoke was the hot sun on her face.

She didn’t have to turn over to know that the bed behind her was empty.

That she was alone.

Again.

Tears instantly flowed to the surface and she squeezed her eyes, squeezed the tears out, not turning around. She stayed exactly where she was...

Her thighs were wet, a sweet mixture of both of them...

She was still exhausted; she didn’t remember falling asleep.

She didn’t move.

She wanted to stay just like this. Didn’t want to move, couldn’t move...

Looking up through a wall of tears, she saw her phone on the nightstand and she frowned at it. She didn’t remember putting it there... Without thinking, she reached out, grabbed it and flipped it open.

No calls, no new messages, no texts... She honestly hadn’t been expecting anything but that tiny little voice in the back of her head wilted a little more… It was just the same voicemail from all those months ago... the one she couldn’t listen to, the one she couldn’t bring herself to listen to...

The sudden urge to hear his voice one more time came over her and she pressed the voicemail button, lifting the phone to her ear as the message read the date and time - hours after he had left the first time - before his voice came over... she stifled a sob, pressing her hand to her lips as he said,

“Hey.... Buffy, I just... I wanted to say I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did, I couldn’t... Damn it, I couldn’t help it, but... I can’t be what you need. I’m not that person, you know? That person who... you deserve better, someone who isn’t so screwed in the head, I’m...” He let out a dry chuckle and she could imagine him rubbing his eyes as he spoke... “I’m poison... Buffy, I’m... poison and I would just screw everything up, more than I did. I’m sorry, baby... I just wanted you to know that I...” He took a deep breath. “I love you... I guess this isn’t exactly fair, leaving this on your messages but... I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anything. And that’s why I have to leave. Because I’ll just... I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you... because of me. So...” Another deep breath…

The sound of his phone clicking off sounded in her ear and Buffy finally let go... after months of pretending everything was okay, that she was okay... that she didn’t love him as much as she thought, that she didn’t need him as much as she thought she did... she let go, the tears coming with a surge as she clutched the phone in her hand, rolling herself up into a ball, crying into her pillow as she mourned this lost love... this man she loved with all her heart...

*

Dean Winchester rolled to a stop as the light turned red. He squinted against the harsh morning sunlight as he drove back to the motel where Sam slept before out of Los Angeles.

He didn’t let himself think. He didn’t let himself do anything but sit and stare at the light, willing it to turn green so he could go. He absently noted someone pulled up next to him but the light still stayed red.

He felt like he had swallowed a boulder and it was slowly pulling him deeper.

He should have known better, he should have known he couldn’t have handled that... he thought walking away from her the first time had been hard... he had spent hours watching her sleep before he finally found the will to get up, get dressed and get gone. Get away from her. Because all he would do was hurt her, get her killed...

But it had been a goddamn miracle when he looked up and saw her in the same bar... saw her for the first time after so many months... she had looked tired, thinner than he remembered... and angry. And then she had run...

He had hoped she would... hell, he didn’t know what he had hoped she would do...

But he should have known better... he should have known better than to follow her, find her... it was like there was something magnetic in that woman that just drew him in... that made him want to love her, hold her... Let her take care of him, let her hold him and tell him everything was okay, be someone he could lean on…

Someone to take the pain away…

Dean clenched his teeth, slapping his palm against the steering wheel. He shook his head.

He wished he hadn’t found her last night... but he didn’t regret it. He would never regret it.

Reaching up, Dean pulled down the visor, his eyes lighting on the picture that was always there. A picture of Buffy... laughing, smiling at the camera... his Buffy, his beautiful Buffy...

Someone honked behind him and he slammed the visor up. The light had turned green and he pressed on the gas, the Impala lurching forward, away...

The End


	6. Dream a Little Dream

Dream a Little Dream

by Bre

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or parts of this storyline. They belong to the brains of The Whedon and The Kripke.  
Rating: M/FR21  
Feedback: Always appreciated! :)  
Author’s Notes: See “Damn Damned” for additional notes on this smutty series of ficlets. (Please keep in mind that I will tell you when a ficlet is in any way connected to another ficlet.)  
Author’s Notes 2: Thank you for the excellent response! The reviews, follows and favorites really make my day!  
Author's Notes 3: Italics indicate dreams.

Author’s Notes 4: For the sake of this story, this takes places in Supernatural, Season 6. (No specific time line but Sam does have his soul.)

Prompt: 002 Love

Summary: Sam and Dean take up what they hope will be an easy ghost hunt, looking for a relic created by a deranged warlock centuries ago that allows ghosts from the past to infiltrate dreams and kill the dreamer. It’s business as usual until Dean starts getting a little taste of something not entirely normal...

*

_The only thing that Dean Winchester knew when he woke up was that it was Saturday... and the weekend meant he could sleep his ass in as long as he wanted. Being the brand spanking new owner of his own garage with his own employees gave him that damn delicious luxury..._

_But it was still a rare day when he didn’t end up going in just to check on things and do a little work anyway; although that changed around three months ago and now weekends meant a whole new level of comfort and relaxation for him. And he would be damned if he was going to waste one moment of this precious time._

_A soft snore made him crack a smile and he hugged the reason for that precious time closer to him, his arm wrapped around her bare chest as he cuddled deeper against her back. Oh yes... precious time indeed._

_Still asleep, she let out another snore that had Dean chuckling. It was cute, her body’s idea of snoring. Ever since they had gotten the news five months ago, she had started up all sorts of weird and goofy habits. One of them being snoring. Which, the pathetic sap that he was, found cute as hell._

_Here he was, Dean Winchester, the original Casanova Douchebag Extraordinaire, lying in bed with his pregnant girlfriend, in their ridiculous suburban house with his sensible truck and her sensible car in the driveway and his metallic baby in the garage, his dad’s gift to him on the condition that he ‘didn’t mutilate her’ - which had been downright hilarious from one mechanic to another. She worked as a first grade teacher and he owned his own business. Now all they needed was a fuzzy Labrador and they were set for The Normal Life Shit magazine._

_He had always thought he would feel trapped and unhappy in a life like this._

_He had also been a goddamn moron._

_Moving slowly, his body still lethargic from sleep, Dean swept away the hair on her neck, digging his face into the small crevice of her tanned skin. She let out a tiny mewl, shifting slightly and his body responded, coming to life as her skin glided over his. Dean’s hand had a life of its own, dragging down her body underneath the sheet, to her hip and around, his large palm cradling the tight bump on her abdomen._

_Every single time he saw her or touched her there, he always felt a sharp stab in his chest, something like ‘hell yeah, I did that and that’s all mine.’_

_She tenderly and sarcastically called it Male Pride Idiocy._

_His hand continued moving up towards her gloriously heavy breasts. To his delight and her chagrin, they only kept getting bigger and more sensitive as the weeks passed. Pressing his hardness against her bare ass, he took one of her nipples between his fingers and squeezed as he nibbled on the gentle skin of her throat before rubbing his two-day old stubble - just as she liked it - against the back of her shoulder._

_A quiet keel left her mouth and he pressed his hips harder against hers._

_“You’re insatiable,” she mumbled into her pillow. Her tone tried to tell him she was annoyed but her body sang another tune as she arched, rubbing her ass against him and he let out a quiet hiss in her ear._

_Goddamn, she was all warmth and everything goddamn sunny or whatever you wanted to call it._

_“Yep,” he replied, his voice hoarse from sleep and she chuckled, rotating her hips. “Mm... I like mornings.”_

_Another chuckle was his only reply as he slipped his arm between her breasts and hugged her close to his chest, his face lost in her hair. He pressed his hips harder against hers, starting a shallow thrusting that had her gasping._

_“We don’t have time,” she said, her voice breathless. Her hand came up behind him, her nails digging into his ass cheek, pressing him closer and Dean’s skin let loose with a herd of goose bumps. Her legs shifted and he immediately pressed his between her thighs, tangling their limbs._

_“There’s always time,” he whispered in her ear and she let out a happy snort before she choked out his name as he kissed the shell of her ear. He sucked her lobe between his lips._

_“Today is the baby shower,” she continued breathlessly and Dean didn’t respond, forcing her legs wider apart for his thigh as he huddled her against his chest. “My mom, your mom... Oh...”_

_“I don’t care.”_

_“Dawn and Jessica... they’re gonna be here any minute.”_

_“Uh-huh...”_

_“I have to... shower...”_

_“Okay.”_

_“And...”_

_Dean didn’t give her a chance to continue. He moved seamlessly, a move that he had perfected over the years they had been together and even more since he had learned she was pregnant. Twisting her in his arms, his lips brushed against hers before Dean rolled onto his back, shoving the comforter down as he pulled her on top of him._

_Dean licked his lips; he stared at her while she braced herself against his chest, lifting up, her mouth gaped with anticipation. A lusty groan left his throat when she shifted her wetness against him, her hips moving in tiny thrusts. She was already wet from the night before and she moved against him effortlessly._

_“Oh god, that feels good,” he mumbled, his eyes half-closed. Her breasts were large and deep pink, straining forward between her arms as she held herself up; they were so sensitive, to a droplet of water and to even a soft breath of air. He reached up, cupping them gently before brushing his thumbs against her nipples. She keened his name, her head falling back as he let his hands descend down her body. The swell of her stomach gave him that crazy stab in his chest again and he couldn’t help the goofy grin he got on his face before his eyes settled between her legs._

_He sucked on his bottom lip as he watched his hard member slide against her wet nether lips, the electrifying sensations intensifying as he watched. His hands found her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he thrust up against her seeping heat. She reached up to lift her bed-crazed hair from her neck, her cheeks flushed when she saw he was staring._

_Christ, she had never been sexier than she was now. And he thought that every single damn time they had sex. Hell, every single damn time he saw her._

_Damn it all, he was one whipped guy - and he was the happiest he had been in his entire life._

_Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion; he felt her weight on chest as she moved, angling her hips just perfectly. Dean watched with a dry mouth as she situated the head of his member at her delectable entrance, shifting against him ever so slightly. He was about to say her name, plead for her to stop messing around with him when she thrust down, taking his entire length in one delicious movement._

_She cried out as Dean arched beneath her. He felt her nails digging into his skin, starting a slow, gentle thrusting._

_The heat between them grew quickly; the slickness between her legs making his body feel like it was on fire. It felt so damn good, so amazing, being inside of her; the woman he loved, the woman he was spending his life with. It amplified every emotion in his chest, making his own skin hyper aware, his fingers hyper aware, as he explored her body, letting her ride him as she pleased. He could feel his orgasm building quickly, plowing through his body and he whimpered._

_“Buffy...” he breathed, his eyes glued to her chest where her breasts bounced in time with her movements. The sun had already risen, casting the room in a gentle glow that made her look like a goddess. She was a damn goddess, and she was all his._

_“Oh god…” she whispered, opening her eyes. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes meeting his, drugged with desire and sleep._

_“You are so beautiful,” he said, his hands falling on her thighs before moving up to her breasts. A ghost of a sweet smile was on her lips, a choked breath escaping her throat in the form of 'I love you.' Dean felt like his chest was going to explode with delight._

_Her thrusts got heavier and he found her hips once more, aiding her, pulling her down on him harder as he met her, igniting a hot fire that raced through his veins. She threw her head back, crying out with each collision of their bodies._

_Her nails dug into his chest before they found his hands on her hips, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as her wet heat enveloped him over and over again. It felt so good..._

_Her fingers bit into his skin, holding his hands to her body, her breasts swaying with each movement, and Dean felt himself tightening, felt his body giving into the seductive image his woman was giving him._

_“Oh god, Dean,” she breathed, her body moving faster and he felt her hands tightening on his, her body vibrating..._

_With a sharp shout, she came, her back arched, her breasts pressing into the air. Dean felt her tight sheath shuddering around him as she rode out her orgasm, her hands gripping his before she gasped his name again, falling forward._

_Dean didn’t let her. He immediately lifted her off of him, swinging her around so she landed soundlessly against the pillows. She wore a large sappy smile as he grabbed two pillows, shoving them underneath her hips, lifting her to his height. She was beautifully red and glistening, her thighs still quivering from her orgasm as he spread her legs and thrust back home, bracing himself on his fists to keep his weight off her._

_Dean groaned at the sensation of being inside her, the heat of her body overwhelming him; his eyes found hers. The amulet he always wore around his neck swung with him as he thrust her into the mattress, pressing her up into the pillows from the force. Her hands clasped to his wrists, holding herself in place, his hips slamming into hers, as she arched her back, meeting him as best she could. She lifted her legs, her feet trailing along his back... Her hair splayed out around her as she mouthed his name, her eyes never leaving his..._

_With a bark of pleasure, she came again underneath him and a moment later he followed, his back cording, emptying himself inside her. He shouted her name as she milked him, her hands gripping his forearms for support._

_As he always did these days, Dean had enough sense to pull himself out of her, pushing the pillows away and off the bed before he collapsed. Her arms immediately came up, cradling him as he rested his head on her heated chest, one of her plump breasts in his line of sight. Their bodies flush, he spread their mess all over her thigh as he settled next to her before a hand found her belly._

_One of hers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, making him shiver; the other found his hand on her stomach, their fingers lacing together over the bump._

_“Morning,” he breathed, smiling against her breast before laying a kiss over her heart. She pressed her face into his hair._

_“Mmm... very good morning,” she replied. After a few moments of peace, she shifted. “Now I really need a shower.”_

_"That sounds like an excellent idea," he replied. Dean lifted his head, finding her nipple. Her mouth parted in a pant as she watched him suckle the sensitive nub between his lips, his tongue darting over it. “And what kind of jerk would I be if I didn’t help you take a shower?”_

_She licked her lips with a smile. “A huge jerk.”_

_“Damn right,” he said just as the doorbell downstairs rang, bouncing up the stairs. Dean growled. “Or not.”_

_Neither moved for a moment, hoping that the time was wrong and that the person ringing the bell had the wrong house before it went off again._

_"Damn," Dean breathed. Coming up, he gave her a kiss that was interrupted by another ring of the doorbell. She laughed at the grumbled curse word against her lips before yelling, “Hang the hell on!”_

_Someone knocked on the door and Dean lifted himself up just enough to give the bump a kiss before swinging out of the bed. “Son of a bitch, you’d think they’d never seen a baby before...”_

_“They’re happy for us.”_

_“They’re pissing me off is what they’re doing.”_

_Her laughter followed him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom as she got up..._

Dean woke with a start, the echo of her laughter still in his ear as he sat up with a jerk in the back seat of the Impala. Blinking the dream away, he looked around, squinting to see just where the hell he was...

For a split second, everything was up in the air. Anxiety filled his chest when he realized that Buffy wasn’t there, that he was somewhere that wasn’t home and that...

And then reality set in and Dean shook his head, rubbing his face roughly. A dream. It had all been a dream. He felt a wild rush of adrenaline through his system as he realized where he was and that his jeans were straining like a mofo from the hard on he was sporting.

“Dude,” Sam said from the front seat. Breathing heavily, Dean glanced over where his brother was sprawled, his feet sticking out the open window of the passenger side. “If you make any more happy noises like that, I don’t care how long we have to drive, we’re going to a motel.”

“What?”

“We’re going to the next town to a motel if I have to hear any more Dean Sex Dream time right next to me,” was all Sam said before he shifted. “Seriously, dude, think about baseball or something. Anything else. Please.”

Dean stared at the steering wheel, ignoring Sam’s bitching and not giving a crap that he had just had the best sex dream of his damn life and he had sounded like it too. Because… damn…

But his mind was trying to play catch up, sifting through the images in his head like a deck of cards.

Right. Small, creepy town in Louisiana. Looking for the ghost amulet that was killing people. Right.

He wasn't some normal Joe. He didn’t own his own garage and he sure as hell didn’t have his name on the deed of some house. With a chick, nonetheless… No mom, no dad, no Jessica… no baby…

It felt like all the crap with the djinn a couple years ago all over again. But more… vivid.

“Whoa,” Dean said under his breath. That was saying something. And it had sure felt like something that had actually happened…

Jesus Christ, was he being whammied by that damn amulet? Dean shook his head, his mind racing ahead of him. Not possible, he didn’t know any Buffy... he didn’t know anything that had happened in that dream. The pattern didn't fit. That wasn’t his life, it was nothing close to his life... and really, what kind of name was Buffy? Had her mom been on crack?

Rather, he was on crack to be dreaming about someone named Buffy in the first place.

The feeling of complete serenity and love that he had had in the dream still hovered throughout his chest and he frowned, placing a hand over his heart. He could feel it racing through his chest plate and he crumpled the t-shirt he had on in his fist, shaking his head again.

Intense. Just damn intense. Like… really intensely real intense. But the job of the amulet was to make you see the ghosts from your own past, from your own life... and to kill you, not give you the damn happiest dream happy he’d ever had. Hell, the best happy in his life, that had just been… The mind-boggling sensation of the complete love he felt for that woman made his chest hurt before he thought about her being pregnant. With his child. That same crazy stab he’d felt when he had been looking at her and touching the bump suddenly hit him and he wanted to smile at the thought of her carrying his baby... their baby...

Good god, even his dreams were starting to lose it now.

Not. Freaking. Possible. Just a dream. Just a trippy, whacked-out dream that was probably because of all the Lisa and Ben crap. That had to be it.

Just a dream.

Taking a deep breath, Dean settled back against the leather, frowning. The resonances of the feelings from the dream were still rattling through his mind, making him feel suffocated. Almost as if that reality was just out of reach, right there that he could touch… Something tangible that had happened and he was just now remembering it, like a buried memory. Dean rubbed his eyes until he saw spots.

But he could still picture her smooth, rounded belly perfectly… the way it looked in a tight t-shirt and naked in the shower… before the image started the disintegration process of a normal dream. His chest throbbed as he saw her face; her smile flashing at him, her hazel eyes that he knew had flecks of gold in them, more in the right than the left…

“Goddamn it, I need a drink,” Dean said to himself.

“Good luck walking,” Sam replied and Dean made a face, flipping him off in the dark, fighting the urge to tell him exactly what he can do with his sassiness.

Checking the time on his watch, Dean glowered at the digits blinking back at him before he glanced out the window to check on the status of the sun and moon combination when he saw it.

Rather, saw her. His heart seized.

Standing against the rim of a large shadowed tree, he saw the ghostly version of Buffy... the woman from his dream, the woman that he had been so enamored with, it might as well have been some lame-ass romantic comedy where everyone got the happy ending that real life liked to shit on...

She was staring at him from across the small expanse of field, her eyes intense, but confused... before she blinked out of existence right before his eyes.

“Holy fuck.”

The End (... to be continued...)

*

This is me "writing-in-action" with what I suggest in the summary of this series of ficlets, writing a few that will culminate into a larger plot or story or goal. This is very much so an experiment for me too, so, if you like, I love hearing thoughts! :D


	7. Can't Get Enough

Can’t Get Enough

by Bre

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or parts of this storyline. They belong to the brains of The Whedon and The Kripke. Song lyrics are also not mine.  
Rating: M/FR21  
Feedback: Always appreciated! :)  
Author’s Notes: See “Damn Damned” for additional notes on this smutty series of ficlets.  
Author’s Notes 2: Thank you for the reviews!  
Author's Notes 3: Song that inspired this ficlet is "I Was Made For Lovin' You" by Kiss - goddamn song keeps coming up on my Spotify radio and it's just perfect - the beat, the words and the fact that it's Kiss…

Author’s Notes 4: For the sake of this story, Buffy was just a Potential, never called in L.A. and never made it to Sunnydale. She lives with her Watcher, Merrick, and works at Harvelle's as a waitress. Set somewhere in SPN S2.

Prompt: 009 Cemetery

Summary: **Sequel to Story #1 Damn Damned.** Dean keeps his word about not telling Buffy when he's coming back to town…

*

Buffy Anne Summers was digging.

She had been digging for at least two hours and she was getting to a stage of dirty and sweaty that was beyond the normal stages of dirty and sweaty. This was an ‘I rolled around in super glue, took a running dive into some mud and dried it all off with grave dirt’ dirty.

But she would rather be doing this any day of the week over serving alcohol to grabby hunters who didn’t know that fuck no actually means no. It was crappy that twenty percent of the hunters who frequented Harvelle’s were pieces of crap - they severely outweighed the other eighty percent who were cool and even-keeled and understood she was just doing her job. This twenty percent usually consisted of the younger hunters, the cocky ones; mostly the ones fronting about the shit lives they led. The ones who didn’t have a world of wisdom on their shoulders along with their trunk full of emotional problems. No, the only thing they had in public was a glorified set of tales and loud mouths with open palms.

And she sure didn’t have the weight of being Bill’s daughter hanging over her shoulder like a morbid guardian angel like Jo had. Nor did she have any such aura of belonging to anyone in any way shape or form.

She was just waitress meat.

“Not bitter,” she mumbled to herself, digging harder. She should be grateful she had a job where she could be herself and all that crap…

But this stuff? This stuff she was good at. Creeping around graveyards at night, digging up ancient graves, rummaging through crypts, doing weird errands for Bobby Singer - hell, she had literally jumped right out of her apron at the mention of recon work.

It was like that potential Slayer drive that lived in all Potentials thrummed a little hotter in her blood than most - despite the fact that she was about ten years past her Slayer prime. She just felt better out here.

A sharp metallic twang shot through the night as her shovel slammed into wood.

“About time,” she breathed, giving the coffin a few more shots, clearing the dirt off. Tossing the shovel out of the hole, she wiped her hands on her bare thighs, reeling her leg back and slamming her steel-toed boot into the rotting wood.

After a few more hits, she felt the ground shifting before a large groan built up and the coffin's wooden walls collapsed. Gripping the dirt walls, Buffy kept her balance before falling to her haunches, shoving the broken pieces of wood out of her way.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got hiding with you, Patrice.”

Maybe it was because she had been digging graves like this for years, so many years that she had lost count; maybe it was the Potential Slayer bit floating around inside her; maybe it was because she had become so integrated into the hunting life or maybe it was because her parents had disappeared without a trace before she ditched California …

Who the hell really knew where the respect for the dead bit went or the morality of it all but she had no damn problem shoving her hand into the coffin and straight into Patrice’s moldy skeletal head.

“Sorry, old man. Nothing personal, I swear,” she said, breaking off more pieces of the coffin. Grabbing the flashlight from her back pocket, she shined it down on the skeleton; the rotted clothes were practically dust under her fingertips. Where the light shone, she watched hoards of little creepy crawlies scurry away as she searched.

Nothing but moldy cushions and dead guy along with some dead bugs that hadn’t been able to escape Patrice’s delicious dead flesh greeted her for a moment before something shiny caught her eye. She grinned. “Gotcha.”

A tiny bronze amulet had fallen to the side, the long chain placing it at Patrice’s hip. Trying to be ginger but not willing to be patient, she shoved a hip bone out of the way and felt the cool metal against her grimy fingers.

Unwinding the chain, Buffy held it up, shining her light on it. Her eyes had a glow to them as she stared at it, the shimmer of the rare purple gem set in the center, the Greek letters carved around it winking back at her.

Antouja’s Gem… a conduit between the demon plane J’arjk and this one; deadly… and, “Shiny.” A smile of self-satisfaction graced her lips.

Buffy looped the chain a few times before slipping it over her neck. The amulet fell against her thin tank top and she shoved it inside. The cold metal bit into her bare chest.

Standing, Buffy pushed her flashlight into the back pocket of her shorts again. The darkness that followed was shocking as she waited for her eyes to readjust to the poor night light. She looked up at the tall walls surrounding her and frowned. “Damn, digging up graves is so not a short person’s job... Well…"

Gripping a hunk of dirt, Buffy started pulling herself up out of the grave she had dug. “It’s been fun, Patrice, but I’ve gotta...” She grunted with the effort of the crumbling dirt holding her weight as she climbed. “Bugger outta here before that pesky sun rises and all sorts of people start asking questions.”

The cool green grass felt amazing against her palms as she heaved herself up and out. A dry wind blew in and she paused at the mouth of the grave, feeling a little tingle in her lower back. The one she usually got when she was being watched.

But there was nothing and no one.

Pulling herself out the rest of the way, Buffy tossed the flashlight back into her bag before stretching her back, letting her head fall back to stare at the night sky. Not a cloud to be seen and a barely out of its new phase moon hanging about as just a tiny sliver. So peaceful and calm out here.

Another plus to this gig? No unnatural light - everything was so much clearer and prettier out here in the ass-middle of nowhere. Although maybe a little more unnatural light would be nice so she could see what she was doing but that was a small price to pay. Hell, how many people actually visited this shitty little cemetery anyway? Everything had the feeling of abandonment about it since the last burial here happened well over two hundred years ago.

Buffy grabbed the shovel and shifted it between her hands to find the right grip.

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Pridekka,” Buffy said, scooping up a large chunk of dirt and tossing it back into the open grave. It landed on the skeleton’s face. She repeated the action as she talked, “You are an example of how strange people are wanting things buried with them. Things that other people could use. Valuable things. Things that could even save people's lives. But no, gotta have that special little hunk of metal with us at all times, don’t we, Patrice? Can you explain that to me? I mean, I get the ‘it’s yours’ thing but-“

Buffy heard the shift of the wet grass behind her before the large shadow even appeared at her back. Every nerve in her body shot to life and she acted on instinct, dropping to her knees and twisting the shovel around so it knocked whoever the hell it was off their feet.

She didn’t wait for them to land or for their breathe to get knocked out before she dove for her bag. She heard her shovel falling back into the grave, the loud clang of metal on wood shattering the quiet of the night.

She went for the knife she kept stashed but whoever was behind her was quicker than she anticipated and she felt a hand grab her ankle and tug her back. Buffy growled as she twisted around, pulling her leg up to shove it into their face when the person clamped their other hand on her thigh in an attempt to pacify her.

Buffy didn’t take a second to wonder who it was that was attacking her in the middle of freaking nowhere, at her own dig site. She didn’t care because as far as she was concerned? Creeping around a graveyard and not announcing yourself automatically went down in the ‘Not a Good Guy’ category.

Using a move that Merrick had taught her, Buffy shifted her body. The hands lost their grip as the stranger grunted and she rolled away, leaping to her feet. She heard the peculiar sound of leather as her opponent stood as well but she didn’t pause. Everything happened in a matter of seconds as she moved in and shot her fist into their face.

It connected soundly and where a normal person would have fallen, this person spun with the hit and attacked her back. Using a forearm to block one solid punch, she felt their other fist come down and land a hit on her side and she gasped at the shooting pain.

Okay, seriously, what the hell? Did Patrice have a grave bodyguard friend she didn’t know about?

Dropping down, she swung her foot out and swept them off their feet. She turned to grab her bag for a weapon.

She needed advantage, she needed a stronghold... she needed a flashlight to see what the hell was attacking her is what she damn well needed.

But that hand was back and they anticipated her move this time. The hand gripped her ankle and tugged on her hard, dragging her across the ground. She felt the dirt crawling up the inside of her shirt as the person used their bulk to turn her around and pin her to the ground, shoving her arms above her head.

“Easy there, princess, don’t want you to break a nail.”

Buffy’s struggles stopped dead cold and she tensed up as she blinked against the adrenaline roaring through her blood, trying to fight the inky darkness to see if it really was this stupid dickhead.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” Buffy bit out, rolling her shoulders and surging her body to kick him off but he didn’t budge. Instead, he used her actions against her and spread her legs, situating his hips between her thighs, pushing her deeper into the cool grass. She felt the hardness in his jeans pressing against her juncture and it pissed her off more. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Well, I was gonna say hi before that fist of yours got too cuddly with my face,” he drawled from on top of her and she could just imagine that shit-eating grin on his face. Which only fueled the fire.

“Get the hell off of me,” Buffy snapped, scissoring her legs and trying to twist him but he only tightened his hold, pulling his knees up as leverage to keep her still. The exhilaration of his suddenly being there, of his seeking her out to see her could have easily been front and center. But instead of announcing his presence and saying hello like a gentleman, he had snuck up on her, freaking the absolute hell out of her. “Get off.”

“If that’s what you’re offering,” Dean said, his voice laced with amusement as he wrapped one hand around her wrists to keep them above her head while the other moved down her body. Her evil body reacted, her skin tingling where his hand touched, the sensation racing through her body and staking her right in her center. A rush of warmth hit as she felt every inch of his weight on her, holding her down, free for him to do whatever he wanted...

Hell. No.

Dean had to realize that he couldn’t just ride into town, ride her for a few hours and ride back out. She wasn’t a fucking slot ‘wham bam, thank you, ma’am’ machine.

Buffy didn’t bother responding to him. Instead, she gritted her teeth before she slammed her forehead against the bridge of his nose.

“What the-“ His grip slackened enough for her to wiggle her arms free and as he moved to cover his face, she moved with him, twisting her legs to kick him off of her. “Son of a bitch!”

“That’s what you get for-“

Her triumph didn’t last long as Buffy rolled away while simultaneously pushing him off of her and instead of solid ground she fell straight into the open grave. A short cry fell from her lips before her back slammed against the bottom half of the coffin, dirt and grass raining down on her from above as the wood creaked from the sudden additional weight. Spitting dirt from her mouth, she felt the damn thing shifting again and she rolled to her feet, leaning against the dirt wall, breathing heavily.

Her limbs were shaking from the sharp pain emanating off her back but she could already feel it starting to dissipate as she paused, letting her body catch up. She heard Dean above her moving around before she saw the shadow of his head pop over the side, more dirt falling. She winced, glaring up at him.

“Smooth,” was all he said and Buffy threw him the finger, biting out, “Fuck off.”

“Whoa there,” he continued, angling his head to get a better view of her. “I’m not the one who rolled you into an open grave.”

“What the hell were you even doing, dumbass?” Buffy responded, stepping back from the wall when she spotted her shovel.

“I came to say hi.”

“Ha. Right. Hi,” Buffy said, picking up her grave digging implement. She shifted it in her hands again, glancing up as Dean got to his feet. She could vaguely see him in the dark touching his face and she threw the shovel up and out. The long hard handle hit him right in the shin. He let out a sharp cry and she smirked. “You are an idiot.”

“Goddamn it!” he growled, leaning over to rub his new bruise as Buffy grabbed a hunk of dirt and started pulling herself from the grave. Again. “What the hell was that for?”

“What do you think?” Buffy growled, blowing a piece of hair from her face as she climbed out. “You aren’t that blonde.”

“Jesus Christ,” he said, his voice sounding far away when his hand suddenly appeared over hers just as she reached the top. She was about to tell him to screw off again when he gripped her forearm and tugged. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

“You,” she snapped back as he pulled her. Buffy used the leverage to stick her boots in the dirt to help as he finally pulled her clear and straight into his arms. Buffy palmed his chest and shoved. “Get off of me.”

“Hell no,” Dean said, wrapping his arms around. “I’ve gotta protect my pretty face somehow.”

“Dean, I’m not in the goddamn mood,” Buffy replied, lifting her boot to connect with where she had hit him with the shovel. Letting out a yelp, Dean’s arms immediately dropped and Buffy stepped back, grabbing the flashlight from her bag. Whipping it on, she stuck it right into his face. He winced at the harsh light change and she smiled at the damage. “You look like crap.”

“Right back at you, sweetheart,” he said with a wink. Buffy moved to grab the shovel, ready to both throw the dirt back into the grave and ready to shove it up his ass if he came near her again when he moved. How he got so quick  
and smooth she could never say, but suddenly he grabbed the flashlight from her hands, tossing it to the ground. His name was on her lips when she felt his hands circling her waist, shoving her up against his chest as his lips captured hers.

A fire ignited in her veins, a violent mixture of aggravated anger and instant lust. She felt it burning hot where he touched her as his lips mauled hers and she returned the favor. She didn’t want to want this stupid moron as much as she did. She didn’t want to turn into a pile of goo whenever he came near her and she sure as hell didn’t want to just spread her legs for him just because he said ‘go.’

Buffy’s kisses turned harsh, her lips mashing against his. They collided painfully and she kissed him harder, her arms wrapping around his neck, her nails digging into his flesh. He moaned into her mouth, pulling her tighter. A hot gush welled between her legs when she felt one of his hands fall down her back and to her ass. He gripped her so tight it stung as he pulled her up against him, thrusting his hips forward as she wound a leg around his, holding him just as tightly.

They were both dirty as hell and bruised but neither cared. It made everything hotter, more delicious as Dean took a step forward. She felt him swinging his arm around as he tried to find something solid; one of his boots hit her bag and he stumbled into a gravestone. The sharp edge of the granite bit into Buffy’s back as he shoved her against it and she arched her body, rubbing her chest against his before fisting her hand in his hair. She tugged, ripping his lips from hers and he let out a strangled gasp.

His breath was hot against her face as Buffy sucked in air, pulling his head back harder to expose his neck. Tugging him closer, her lips found his jugular. She instantly sucked on the gentle skin there, tugging it between her teeth and nipping at him. He said her name in a sharp gasp, his hips thrusting against hers and then she sucked harder.

“Jesus Christ,” he snapped, gripping her hair in his fist and pulling her head back. “Easy.”

Buffy let out a little laugh, licking her lips, her hands holding his head still as her legs wound around him, using the long gravestone as an anchor. “I don’t think so.”

Buffy kissed him, hard, attacking his lips. Something hot was racing through her body, forcing her actions as she dug her nails into his body, rubbing her body against his. The heat between her legs grew feverish as a well of pleasure started building. She moaned, ignoring the small voice in the back of her head that said she was being too rough. She wasn’t this rough, she didn’t do these things.

But right now she did. And she would because it felt amazing, especially as he returned the fervor, shoving his tongue down her throat. As his thick hardness swelled against her and Buffy mewled, she couldn’t push away the feeling that she needed to do this, that she needed to be the one wanting, needing, demanding… She needed more. Her core throbbed with an aching need as she remembered just how delicious he felt between her legs, sawing in and out of her and the want burned a hot trail through her body.

Buffy broke the kiss, pushing Dean back with surprising force. Dean stumbled and she caught a quick glimpse of his face from the flashlight still on the ground. His lips were swollen, his hair askew. Where she had punched him just a few minutes ago was already swelling, an angry red and it only made her hotter. Licking her lips, Buffy grabbed his jacket and swung him around, his back slamming into the gravestone as she dropped down before him.

She felt Dean’s hands in her tangled hair as she made quick work of his belt and jeans, shoving them and his boxer briefs down. His heavy and ready member popped free, pulsating with need and weeping for attention but that wasn’t what she wanted right now. She stood and quickly unbuckled her thigh gun holster, dropping it to the ground before unzipping her shorts. Interrupting his trying to remove her shirt, Buffy pushed on his shoulder. Dean got the hint and leaned down against the gravestone, sliding to his butt on the grass as Buffy released one leg, letting her shorts slide down.

Dean shoved his pants down enough to make room for her and she straddled him. She didn’t miss the excited gleam in his eye as she took control, the way his lips lifted in a secret smile as she reached between them, lifting her thong out of the way. There was something new here, something different… usually it was Dean pulling the reins, telling her body what to do and where he wanted it…

That just wasn’t going to work this time.

Buffy sucked in a quick breath as Dean followed her hand, shoving his between her legs. She felt his fingers glide through her wetness, finding her opening for a quick moment. She was slippery and ready for him and Buffy’s entrance grasped onto the two fingers he slid inside her. A quiver of pleasure burned in her stomach and Buffy insistently thrust her hips against his hand. Letting out a grunt of satisfaction, Dean left her warmth and gripped the base of his dick, guiding it to her entrance.

Buffy thrust down on him, taking his entire length into her hot core.

A strangled cry from the sensation of being so full so quickly filled the night air as she lifted her hips and slammed back down. The feeling of so much of him inside her, filling her, taking over her, had the sear of her orgasm building like a raging fire as she rode him. She felt him cupping her breasts before tugging on them. She let out a hiss of pleasure when his lips found one of her nipples through her tank and she wound her hands through his hair, pulling on him painfully, yanking him up to her lips.

Their lips waged war on another as Buffy took him. The wet sound from her arousal quickly filled the absent air that their pants of pleasure didn’t fill. Something hot and bright occupied her, starting at her core and blossoming through her center at a rapid pace, filling her to the brim...

Gripping his head, Buffy moved quicker, harder, spreading her legs so she could take him deeper. With a choked gasp, Buffy broke from his lips, hugging him to her, squeezing her eyes shut as the fire grew, the tingling pleasure spreading through her body in blistering anticipation.

“Yes, yes, oh god,” Buffy breathed against him. His breathy moans spurred her on and Dean’s hands suddenly came up her back as he sat up, his fingers gripping her shoulders painfully from behind. He pushed her down harder, punishingly hard, the wet sound of her sex floating out around them; the sound of her skin slapping against his echoing her cries. It was so good, so… “Oh yes, yes… Dean… Dean…”

In a hot rush Buffy came, a harsh shout falling from her lips as her orgasm rocketed through her body. Her core rippled strongly, her inner muscles clamping onto Dean’s dick like it was a life line, pushing him over the edge along with her. She felt his shout against her throat as he came inside her in heavy jerks, his grip on her tightening as he thrust wildly underneath her. She struggled to keep up, her breathing uneven and rapid as he arched into her one last time before falling limp.

Buffy felt her arms and legs trembling as she twitched against him, her face in his hair, his open mouth panting against her collarbone. Dean’s arms stayed latched around her as he fell back against the gravestone, taking her with him.

“Wow,” he breathed, still panting. Buffy just nodded, licking her dry lips. A satisfied throbbing emanated from between her legs, the slow lava starting to cool down in her veins as she tried to remember what had happened before that did. She had been mad at him, right?

Wow, seemed like eons ago.

A little twinge in her right leg caught her attention and she shifted. Dean’s hands found her hips, holding her tightly, shaking his head. He didn’t say anything as he slowly lifted her before pushing her back down. Buffy let out a hiss when she felt him hardening inside her again; everything felt dulled and heavy as he moved against her gently, moving so slowly that she barely thought he was moving at all. The heavy wetness between her legs wept a little more as she felt the familiar pleasure crackling again under the surface.

“Again?” she whispered against the crown of his head. A hint of a smile decorated her face, the feeling of being filled completely returning as he gained traction.

Dean grunted in reply. “What can I say...” He hissed, shifting his eyes down to where their bodies met. “I missed you.”

Buffy chuckled before groaning in discomfort as the twinge in her leg came violently back to life. "Hang on…" She felt the cramp grabbing at her muscles and she cursed. “Oh, I can’t, I can’t, I’m getting a cramp in my leg. Cramp, cramp.”

Buffy lifted herself off of him as gracefully as she could, rolling to her side to stand. Her thong waded through the mess between her legs while she walked around, shaking her leg out.

"Water," Buffy mumbled. "Should’ve brought more water. Always drink more water. Digging, lots of digging and crazy sex and do I bring water? No." She never did; in fact, if she had a penny for every time Merrick nagged her about it, she'd be rich.

Buffy felt her shorts falling to her ankle as she dragged them through the dirt. Her legs were still wobbly as she heard Dean standing up behind her. The whispered sound of his pants being pulled back up met her ears.

She wanted to apologize or some crap, but she clamped that feeling down. She should still be mad at the doof, shouldn’t she?

Making a small circle, she turned back to face him, ready to suggest heading back to her place where the water and the comfy bed lived when his hands found her hips and he lifted her easily, like she didn’t weigh anything more than a freaking bag of potatoes. She let out a little yelp when he set her down on the cold granite of the gravestone before pushing her to lay back.

“Dean-“

“Relax your leg,” he said, his hands running up and down her thighs as he bent over, placing her legs over his shoulders. She tried to push herself up but the gravestone didn’t allow it. It was long enough for her to lie on but too thin to roll around and sit up and ask him what he thought he was doing. Hello, leg cramp?

But it did feel pretty good stretched out over his back…

“Dean, what-“ Goose bumps erupted over her skin as her body warmed the stone beneath her ass and she felt the tickle of his stubble on her inner thigh, erasing her mind. She gasped his name again, her eyes closing as her body came to life at the thought of where he was and what he planned on doing with that mouth of his. She felt him lift her thong out of their mess once more; he didn’t wait to see if she was ready or let either of them wonder why they were doing this in the middle of nowhere when she felt his lips and then his tongue on her clit.

Her hips jerked up against his mouth with alarm, her gentle tissues sensitive as he tasted her again. His hands gripped her hips, nailing her body down to the granite as he delved his face between her legs. Buffy groaned when she felt his tongue dancing around her tight hole, her back arching to get closer to him as the slow burn of another orgasm immediately started kindling. Her hands were on the back of his head, pushing him in closer, her inner muscles contracting, aching for something to come into it, achingly ready again...

“Dean, please,” she moaned, tossing her head to the side as she yearned to thrust up against his mouth. His tongue flickered against her clit, hot jolts flaring through her body and she keeled underneath him, squeezing her thighs tighter around his head as she waited for him to... “Please.”

Dean suddenly flattened his tongue and thrust it into her. Buffy bucked against his face, her nails digging into his scalp as he thrust in and out, his nose rubbing against her clit with a specific rhythm that had her climax building quickly. Buffy whimpered his name, whimpered for him to not stop, never stop... “Oh god, I’m so close, I’m... I’m... Dean...”

Without warning, he sucked her clit between his lips, his tongue massaging it with a fierce tenderness. She felt his teeth graze over it as that hot blinding pleasure arched hotter from her center...

“Don’t stop, please... Don’t stop...”

And then there was no more Dean. Buffy’s eyes flew open in protest, her legs falling lax as Dean stood up, whipping his jacket off and throwing it onto the ground. Tugging her off the stone, Dean lifted her and laid her down on his jacket. Spreading her legs so wide it was painful, Dean shoved his unbuttoned jeans out of the way before he thrust into her.

Buffy came the moment he entered, her ready walls clamping around him again as the base of his dick rubbed against her clit. She gasped over his moan as he angled his body further, lifting himself up on his arms to thrust into her deeper. This time it was gentler, easier... the fire and passion from earlier subdued but still burning just as hot. Buffy reached up and wrapped her arms around his back, arching her body to let him inside her further as she lifted her legs to wind around him, the twinge in her leg overpowered.

Buffy felt another orgasm building, almost painful with its intensity as Dean moved inside her. His pace started to pick up, quickening as his breathing got heavier. Buffy’s mouth opened in a silent moan as he moved his hips just so, hitting just the right spot. Something agonizingly hot started building in her center. Her eyes flew open to find his only to see him watching her, his face a level of fierce concentration.

Buffy yanked him down, their chests colliding. Dean’s hands flew down to her hips, holding her down as he started thrusting even harder, even faster. His stubble pressed into her neck and cheek and Buffy rained kisses on his temple, his ear, his jaw line... He grunted her name, his fingers digging into her skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, his thrusts wild and painful, harder and harder...

Buffy’s body shattered as she came again, her legs coming up and hugging him to her as tight as she could as she arched underneath him, his name a litany on her lips. He thrust into her harder, his hands crushing her; he grunted and everything in her felt like an inferno as he moved faster. With a sharp exhale, Dean thrust home, coming heavy and loud. He emptied everything he had into her, his fingers denting her skin so hard she was sure she would have bruises the next morning.

Buffy sucked in a deep breath as he collapsed on her, his breath hot and wet against her skin. He buried his face in her hair as he slowly released her hips. Everywhere he touched her, she felt a gentle tingle and she sighed at the gentle caresses before a shiver racked her body.

“Sorry,” he grunted, slipping out and rolling away. Buffy whimpered at the loss, her arm followed along, cushioning his neck against the hard ground. A long moment passed as their breathing started evening out.

“Okay,” Buffy sighed. “That...”

“That,” Dean said, twisting his head to look at her. “Was one for the bucket list. Sex in a graveyard... kinky.” Buffy’s eyes narrowed at him and he grinned, turning back to look at the sky. “That was definitely not what I planned when I came out here.”

Buffy snorted. “Right.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who got all fisticuffs and started throwing her delicate little fists around.”

“Well I’m not the one who snuck up on me like a total creepy guy without even saying hello first.”

“You were talking to yourself.”

“I was keeping myself company.”

“Right. I’m sure Patrice over there was a real talker.”

A moment of quiet passed before Buffy said, “Are we really laying half-naked in a cemetery arguing?”

“Yeah.” A beat. “This part sure doesn’t make it into the Asian vampire porn.”

Buffy rolled her head to look at him and he shrugged. “What the hell do you think I do on those lonely nights when Sam’s got his head buried in research and I don’t have you to bury my head in?”

Buffy bit the inside of her lip to keep from grinning at the rush of euphoria his words gave her or how much hearing that he watched porn instead of finding some random bimbo meant to her. That was a list of crazy thinking for another time. Instead, she turned back to the sky. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

Buffy felt his hand on her stomach as he turned to her and her heartbeat shot to life, his fingers slipping underneath her shirt. He smirked. “Hey, I warned you, didn’t I?”

When she opened her mouth to argue, he kissed her instead.

“Mmm... okay.” He kissed her more thoroughly, his tongue tangling with hers, her arousal still heavy on his lips as she arched into his hand.

“Room,” he grunted. “Now.”

Buffy didn’t miss a beat. “Mm, yeah, I don’t think so. Why don’t you finish re-burying that grave...” She didn’t miss the way his face suddenly fell. “Since one, ew that we just had sex next to dead Patrice and two, you owe me for scaring me and three...” Buffy grazed her lips against his. “It’s the only way I’ll let you put your hand down my pants again.”

The End

_I was made for lovin' you baby_   
_You were made for lovin' me_   
_And I can't get enough of you baby_   
_Can you get enough of me_

*

I wrote this almost immediately after the last update and it's just been sitting around, hanging out, waiting for me to say, "This is it! Ready for posting!" Didn't happen so I'm posting anyway. In other news, feedback makes the world go round. Remember! If you have a request for something Buffy/Dean smutty, please feel free to ask! It might not show up right away but I've got a list of future stories and I'll definitely add any requests in.


	8. Getting Ready

Getting Ready

by Bre

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or parts of this storyline. They belong to the brains of The Whedon and The Kripke.  
Rating: M/FR21  
Feedback: Always appreciated! :)  
Author’s Notes: See “Damn Damned” for additional notes on this smutty series of ficlets.  
Author’s Notes 2: Thank you for the excellent response! The reviews, follows and favorites really make my day!

Author’s Notes 4: For the sake of this story, Buffy and Dean are human and hunters. These ficlets take place multiple years in the future so Sam is not around (will be explained).

Prompt: 011 Bathroom

Summary: **Same ‘verse as #3 Off The Hook and #4 On Purpose.** Buffy is going undercover to coax out a baddy she and Dean are hunting. They’ve met one before and Dean remembers only too well how that went.

*

Buffy Summers went over the line a few more times across her lid, darkening it. Leaning back, she tilted her head to get the full image and was pleased. Full, dark and smoky equals sexy, and sex was of the necessary that night. She leaned back into the mirror to finish her other lid.

“Are you just going to stand there and pout the entire time?”

“Yes.”

“That’s attractive.”

“Yeah, well, I get the pleasure of just sitting around and doing absolutely nothing until that leach comes and finds you so bite me.” Buffy rolled her eyes, waiting for the rest that she had already heard earlier: ‘While you parade around with your freaking goodies - that are mine and only mine - hanging out for the entire world to see.’

Buffy glanced at her boyfriend where he stood in the doorway behind her. His shoulders were slouched, his arms crossed and a fierce scowl made it clear he’d rather be eating concrete than watch her do this. She straightened. “You’re being a baby.”

“I am not being a baby.”

“You _are_ being a baby. You’re being a freakishly large plaid-covered baby. Come on, it’s not like I haven’t done this before.”

“I know,” he growled behind her. “I remember.”

“And it worked then so it will now,” Buffy replied brightly, turning back to her makeup bag. Fishing out the mascara, she glanced up in the mirror to see him glowering at her ass. Buffy smirked. “What? It’s too long?”

He glared at her.

Buffy nodded. “You’re right,” she said, turning to see her backside in the mirror and wiggling her hips so the skirt danced. It was barely long enough to graze the top of her thighs. Bend over and the world could see plenty more. She bit her tongue to keep from laughing as Dean’s eyes followed her in the mirror, his eyes getting darker, his scowl getting meaner as she wiggled.

She was wearing almost the exact outfit she had been when they first met: a little black skirt with suspenders over a tight blue midriff shirt that had the name of the bar ‘Dancing Kilt’ on it in red and white. She actually looked pretty good if she was okay being manhandled all night as she was sure she was going to be. The bar had a strict - and by strict it meant ‘don’t do anything to make the girls call the cops’ kind of strict - rule of no inappropriate touching. It was the kind of place that employed the kind of girl that let most of it happen, letting it slide because they needed the cash. A little touch here and there - minimal boob graze, no fingers inside anything and you can touch the ass, but only if you make it count with a big tip.

It was the perfect breeding ground for what they were hunting. The creepers called hidsecs hung out in pretty down and out dive bars that usually catered to the grabbiest men alive. Along with skeezy arenas, the waitresses were usually donned in tiny little outfits that left nothing to the imagination which led to stinking drunk men throwing off their own pheromones like monkeys in heat which caused the women to stew in their own juices. It was the exact combination needed for the thing to implant its eggs into a woman’s neck so it could have baby hidsecs running around.

They were a pain in the ass to find since they moved quickly and places like these were a dime a dozen. Despite that, Buffy had a fond place for the things in her heart, though she wouldn’t admit that to Dean, because it made their ‘how did you guys meet’ story all the funnier.

Buffy lifted the skirt until half of her ass was seen and she cocked her head. “This better? Those crappy pheromones I have to wear won’t be enough to grab its attention, I should really get into the part and-“

Buffy didn’t get a chance to finish.

Dean moved so quickly she didn’t even see him until his hands were on her waist and he lifted her onto the sink. Buffy let out a little shriek, grabbing onto him for leverage as her makeup bag went scattering all over the floor. He pinned her to the porcelain, his face dark.

“If that skirt goes any higher, I’m going to tie you to the bed so you don’t go anywhere,” he said in a low voice and Buffy shivered. She bit her lip, looking up at him underneath her eyelashes. She lifted her legs, wrapping them around him and pulling him closer. She mewled softly when she felt the hard seam of his jeans at the juncture of her thighs. “I’m goddamn serious, Buffy.”

“I know you are,” she said softly, pulling him in closer. The seam of his jeans pressed in the perfect spot and she lifted her hips for more. Her nails scratched at his neck, playing with the hair at his nape. She felt his arms tightening where they held her. He exhaled, burying his face in her neck.

“If I have to watch every piece of crap in there touch you, I don’t give two shits about ganking that thing, I’ll kill them all,” Dean Winchester said.

“Killing humans is bad,” Buffy said with a small smile on her face as she kissed the shell of his ear. With a quick jerk, Dean thrust his hips forward and she gasped at the sharp sensation, a flood of creamy warmth welling between her legs.

“I don’t like this plan,” Dean groused, pulling back so he could look at her. His lungs tightened as she leaned back as well. She looked positively sinful, her eyes ringed in black, her hair full. The shirt was tight and low-cut - she might as well have not been wearing a shirt - her legs parted. The skirt had ridden up, showing she was wearing that hot pink lacy thing he loved. He groaned. “No, I fucking hate this plan.”

Buffy chuckled, leaning back against the mirror, widening her legs so he could get a better view. His eyes were glued to her crotch as she said, “If the plan ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

“Fucking stupid plan,” was all he said, tugging her closer. She slid down the mirror, her hips gliding across the small counter and straight for the large bulge in his jeans. The simple act of breathing was abruptly difficult as he pressed against her wet heat. She watched him, his eyes glued to the thong she knew he loved and the goodies it held where he was creating friction. A slow burn started churning in the pit of her stomach as he pressed the growing hardness in his pants against her more urgently, caressing her clit with precision, his eyes darkening with lust.

Buffy’s eyes drooped, her mouth open in a tiny pant, her hips rising to meet his tiny thrusts. Buffy licked her lips, whispering his name. The bathroom was suddenly too small and too hot for breathing normally as he rotated in small circles; a steady throb echoed inside her, focusing on her center as he ground against her. She felt her crisis building, slow and hot and she angled her hips, the mixture of her now soaked panties with the harsh denim pressing against her clit pushing her higher. Buffy keened, arching her back. Her nails dug into the impenetrable porcelain of the sink as she concentrated on him between her legs. Spreading herself wider, Buffy pulled him in closer, her bare feet pressing against his ass. His hands were all over her thighs, moving up and down before finding her hips again and yanking her closer.

Dean leaned over her, pinning her with his weight, his rubbing getting harder and quicker and Buffy gasped his name. Her limbs tingled with anticipation, her womb tightening with pleasure. She didn’t think about the ache in her nails as she gripped the counter for leverage or the faucet that was starting to dig into her back. The only thing that mattered was how hard he was and how good it felt as he increased the pressure, his strokes becoming wilder. She felt her orgasm climbing, the heat where he pressed against her burning and she started panting, pressing her now hard nipples into his chest as her hips moved more urgently.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed. “Dean… oh god…”

He moved faster and Buffy cried out. A whip of pleasure cracked through her body and she jerked against him, intent on his hard member pressing against her, rubbing her right where she needed it. She was so wet, everything so slick inside her panties, that he moved against her effortlessly and Buffy whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. A flash of warmth swept through her limbs, heading towards her core and Buffy’s hips moved of their own accord as she thrust up against him, chasing the pleasure with fervored gasps before everything exploded.

Buffy came with a heady shout, a gush of her hot juices bursting like a dam inside her as she held onto the edge, her shout drowning into a whimper. Dean didn’t stop, his fingers digging into her skin, another orgasm fast approaching as he pressed harder against her, his face buried in her neck. He panted against her skin, his stubble scratching at her.

With one hand holding her up on the counter, Buffy pushed her other into his hair, pressing him harder against her, turning her face into him, inhaling the shampoo he liked to use that smelled like the woods as well as the gun powder he never seemed to get rid of. He smelled so good, so much like Dean, so much like home.

Buffy felt the grumble of his frustrated growl rather than heard it and then he was suddenly gone. He pulled back, lifting her so she was sitting up on the sink before unbuttoning his jeans in record time, shoving them and his boxers down. Buffy didn’t have time to appreciate the view before he pushed her skirt further up her body, pulling her closer as he plucked her thong out of the way and thrust into her deeply.

“Oh god!” Buffy cried out, throwing her head back. It cracked against the mirror and Dean didn’t pause, pulling her body up and cradling her against him, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm. Buffy wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling herself up to meet him as he wrapped his around her. One hand delved into her hair, gripping it tightly while the other held her waist steady as he leaned them over the sink, forcing her legs up, pushing into her deeper.

It was quick and hard. The sound of their flesh slapping against each other filled the tiny bathroom in time with Buffy’s breathless cries as he plowed into her, pressing her into the sink. His face was digging painfully into her shoulder, his grunts of pleasure vibrating against her skin. With another flash of pleasure, another hot cascade of burning heat swept through her and Buffy came, throwing her head back into the cradle of Dean’s hand, shouting his name, her nails digging into his shoulders. His arms tightened around her, his thrusts losing all control as he pounded into her before letting go. Pulling her tightly against him, Dean followed her into oblivion with a cry, his head buried in her neck, riding out the orgasm with a few more harsh thrusts before he slumped over her on the sink.

Buffy’s nails scratched at his scalp slowly, her body loosening into a wet noodle as her lungs moved easier. With a gentle kiss at her neck, Dean pulled back with a satisfied grin, capturing her lips in a thorough kiss. His softening member shifted inside her and Buffy arched, pulling him in closer with her legs as their tongues dueled lazily.

“That’s much better,” Dean said with a little half smile between kisses.

“I’m glad you feel better,” she said with a drowsy chuckle but Dean’s own chuckle cut her off.

“No, I was saying you look much better,” he said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Buffy frowned. “What did you do?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in accusation. “You sound like you just got done pissing on your territory or something.”

“Or something,” he said with a smile. Stepping back, Dean delighted in the little whimper she always gave off when he pulled out of her. He readjusted his pants, pulling them up over the wet spot she’d left on him. He watched Buffy slide off the counter on unsteady legs, using the sink to keep herself up, causing another happy little zing to shoot through him at the new picture she made. Oh yeah, much better.

“You made me all messy,” she said with a fake pout that that quickly melted away to shock when she saw herself in the mirror. “Oh my god, Dean!”

She looked like a sex-happy kitten. Her hair was destroyed, the pure definition of sex hair, but that was the fixable part. What wasn’t fixable were the stubble marks around her mouth, her puffy lips and the very red and irritated skin at her neck from his beard and now where a very large and pronounced hickey sat. She hadn’t even freaking felt him do that.

“You jerk!”

“What?” he asked with a smile, dodging her flying hand as she turned back to evaluate the damage. “You look better.”

“That’s not funny,” Buffy grumbled, running her fingers through her hair. Everything had to be redone, and now she had to cake her neck in makeup, which was just ew. “I can’t believe you did that. As if I didn’t have ‘easy’ written all over me already!”

“No, now you have ‘goddamn taken’ written all over you,” Dean said in a sly voice, sidling up behind her. He placed his hands on the sink in front of her, trapping her as he pressed his hips into hers. Her eyes fluttered before the firey hazel found his in the mirror. Buffy scoffed at him and he smirked. She didn’t know how much sexier she was when she was pissed at him. “I feel better, you look better, it’s a win-win.” Pushing her hair out of the way, Dean’s tongue licked at the shell of her ear and she inhaled sharply. “And I’ll be more than ready to apologize after we get this job done when I get you in my backseat again.”

Buffy flushed despite herself, her already pinkened skin from his ravaging growing hotter at the thought of their first time in his car after they had met.

She scowled as he pressed his growing hardness against her ass cheeks in slow circles, one arm wrapping around her waist to pull her back against his chest as he bent her over the sink.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she said breathlessly.

Dean answered with a nip to the other side of her neck, making her yelp.

The End


	9. What Dreams May Be

What Dreams May Be

by Bre

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or parts of this storyline. They belong to the brains of The Whedon and The Kripke.  
Rating: PG-13/FR-15  
Feedback: Always appreciated! :)  
Author’s Notes: See “Damn Damned” for additional notes on this smutty series of ficlets. (Please keep in mind that I will tell you when a ficlet is in any way connected to another ficlet.)  
Author’s Notes 2: Thank you for the excellent response! The reviews, follows and favorites really make my day!  
Author’s Notes 3: Italics indicate dreams.

Author’s Notes 4: For the sake of this story, this takes places in Supernatural, Season 6. (No specific time line but Sam does have his soul.)

Prompt: 034 What

Summary: **Sequel to “Dream a Little Dream.”** Sam and Dean are waiting for answers from Bobby about where to find the ghost relic as more people are found dead while Dean’s own dreams show no sign of slowing…

*

"You look like dog crap."

"Wow, thanks, Sammy," Dean Winchester drawled, giving his brother a glib smile over his shoulder before turning back to the autopsy report. "You charming devil, you."

Sam Winchester grabbed a lukewarm bottle of beer from the mini-fridge, his eyes glued to the back of the elder Winchester's head. Dean was staring intently at the pictures from the last two vics' autopsies. The one he held was from the woman who had been pregnant; Sam could see where the picture was bending at the sides, he was clutching it so hard.

Popping the top off the beer, Sam flicked it at the back of Dean's head. It hit with a dull thud before ricocheting against the wall.

"Ow! Dude, what the hell?" Dean snapped, rubbing where the cap had hit. Glaring at his brother, Dean grabbed the top to one of the empty bourbon bottles on the table and let it fly at Sam's eye. He dodged it with ease which made Dean's glare darken into a gloomier pit of despair.

Sam glanced back at where the cap had left a small dent in the thin wall. "Okay…" He sat down across from Dean. A pregnant moment filled the silence as Dean studiously ignored him, staring a burning hole into the photograph.

"Good picture?"

"Shut up."

"Are you seeing something we missed?"

"Don't you think I'd be saying something if I saw something we had missed?" Dean bit out, shooting Sam another glare.

Sam leaned back in his seat slowly, his hands up in surrender. Another weighty pause passed before Sam bit the bullet. "Are we going to talk about it or are you just going to take my nuts off every time I talk to you?"

"Talk about what?" Dean asked, the irritation in his voice like a serrated blade. "The case? What the hell do you think I'm doing here, daydreaming? I'm trying to look for clues."

"You look like the paper just told you it found another prom date," Sam replied. Dean dropped both hands on the table with heavy thuds as he stared at his brother. Sam shrugged and Dean shook his head, rolling his eyes before rubbing his face roughly. He grabbed the bottle of bourbon sitting next to him. It was empty. Sam watched him shake the bottle, staring at the droplets swirling around at the bottom of the glass before setting it down noisily. "Okay, seriously."

"No."

"So you do know what I'm talking about?"

"I really don't care," Dean said with a thin smile, standing. He never stopped looking at the image.

Sam's eyes didn't leave him as Dean stared at the picture of the deceased woman before he wiped his mouth slowly; the sound of his beard chafing against his calloused fingers filled the room. It wasn't an easy picture to look at - the child had been removed from the woman. In checking her history, they had found a deceased boyfriend who had used her as a punching bag for about five years before he disappeared and who had now been summoned by the relic to act on its living intensions…

Whatever was going through Dean's head - whatever the image was making him think of - Sam watched his brother age ten years and he shook his head.

“Is the relic affecting you?” he asked bluntly and Dean jerked, startled eyes flying to his. Sam waved at him. “You’re not sleeping and it’s not like we don’t have a few dead enemies looking to fill the job; and you look like death is literally waiting for you every time you do close your eyes, Dean.”

Dean swallowed, shivering. In a sense, it was. It had been three nights since the first dream he had had of Buffy. And every single night, it was a new scene; more intense, more vivid and more painful when he woke and found that it was just that… a dream.

One had been about Dean mocking a pair of new shoes she had bought because they were the color of ‘barf blue.’ Another night about been one of their first ‘dates’ - if you could even call them that, they basically started out as a friends with benefits before it morphed into something more - where the waitress happened to be a lovely woman he had bedded for a few months once upon a time. The next had been at a coffee shop where Dean was ordering them both coffee and the entire time all he could think about was how whipped he was getting.

And each and every time he woke up, she was there.

Ghostly Buffy was always floating around in his peripheral. She was getting closer with each night, staring at him so hard he wanted to piss his pants. Last night had been the worst. He’d woken up, his chest caving in to find her standing over his bed, reaching out to touch him. And she had said his name before disappearing…

“Dean?”

The logical side of him knew that mentioning these little events was probably a good idea but he couldn’t bring himself to do it… she wasn’t trying to kill him, unless making him feel like a domesticated pussy cat was what counted for dream homicide these days. He just couldn't… talk about it. It was too weird. Which was a pretty classic saying because there was a lot of weird in the Winchester Handbook.

Nothing was helped by the fact that nobody knew where this stupid relic was buried or even which stupid creeper warlock had started the whole thing. Instead they just kept getting a few more dead people dying in horrific ways in their dreams to add to the end-all body count. Bobby was working on it, Sam was working on it and Dean was passing the time by sitting in the corner of his mind, drooling all over himself about some chick he had never actually met.

But when he closed his eyes… he could remember things about her that he had no right remembering because they had never happened. How she liked her eggs scrambled, but runny still. How she scratched her nails down his neck, always somehow nicking his ear which both annoyed him and made him shiver. How she said his name after a heavy make-out session in the back of his truck… a truck he had never owned. A truck he never wanted to own.

“Dean, hello…” Dean rocked back when Sam snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Dude, come on.”

Dean rolled his eyes away from Sam’s patented ‘I know what’s going on, just spill it’ look that always made him want to throw something. Instead of waiting for the oncoming lecture, he grabbed his jacket off his bed.

“I’m fine.”

“Right. And I’m wearing a pink tutu under my clothes.”

“Whatever rocks your boat, Sammy, I’ll be back,” he said dismissively over his shoulder, exiting before Sam could get in another word.

*

_He was exhausted._

_Dean rolled to his side, shoving his face into the cool pillow. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as the smell of Buffy’s shampoo filled his nostrils. Fresh and clean and strawberry-ish. Shoving his arms underneath it, Dean pulled the pillow closer, smacking his lips together._

_Sleep good. Lack of consciousness good._

_The Creature from the Black Lagoon was playing in the background, the window open and shooting in a cool breeze from the quickly descending fall weather in Lawrence, Kansas. A long day of trying to calm down some old broad with at least thirty broomsticks up her ass because she insisted he check her brake lines just one more time - because she was sure the neighbor’s kids were doing something to her car - deserved just falling into bed and closing his eyes._

_He heard the woman in the movie screaming, interrupting his dozing and he shifted, burying his face further into Buffy’s pillow, his arm moving around for the remote to turn the TV down…_

_The sound of keys rattling in the front door woke him up further and Dean moved so his face was free and facing the doorway of the bedroom as Buffy entered the small apartment. He heard her struggling with her keys - because she always somehow turned them just enough so she couldn’t just pull the key out of the lock. She then dropped them on the counter, the door shutting. Her bag hit the floor. He heard her heels coming off and clicking together as she carried them towards the bedroom._

_“Hey,” she said with a wispy smile on her face. She headed straight for the closet, already unzipping her skirt. Dean’s eyes were honed in on her every move. Her shoes went on the floor in a tangled heap, her skirt shimmying down her hips and pooling next to the shoes. She swiftly unbuttoned her shirt, the tails of the gauzy material brushing against the peach silky panties she wore._

_Her shirt was next on the floor and she kicked it further into the closet, reaching back to undo her bra. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t find himself strangely pleased right here and right now as she undressed in front of him, not giving a second thought to her boyfriend ogling her. It was… nice, knowing she didn't care._

_Dean watched her push her panties down and Dean licked his lips, propping himself up on an elbow, suddenly very awake and not just his eyes when she grabbed a pair of shorts and tugged them on, followed by a ribbed white tank that she shoved over her head before yanking her hair up in a ponytail. She finally turned to him, her face more relaxed._

_“Much better,” she said with a happy sigh, reaching out to graze his shoulder with every intention of walking right by him and heading back out of the room. Dean didn’t let her. She yelped as he grabbed her arm, yanking her onto the bed with him. Dean rolled onto his back, pulling her on top where she situated herself, pressing her body snugly against his. “Hi.”_

_“Hi,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around her and closing his eyes. Oh yes, much better. Her slight weight felt delicious on top of him, her fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp. Her warm legs cradled his hips, the juncture between her thighs fitting just damn right on the mass growing in his sweats. She still had a hint of her shampoo traced in her hair, mixed with hairspray and her perfume. She smelled like she had spent all day in a meeting with the school board… more Buffy than anything. He sighed, the relaxation and the urge to sleep coming back with a vengeance. “Definitely much better.”_

_“Mm, you’re too comfy,” Buffy said, burrowing her face into his neck. “Can’t be comfy. Hungry. Food.”_

_Dean muttered in response, pulling her closer, feeling sleep sinking in as she nestled against him. His hands roamed over her body, his palms feeling the ridges of her shirt as he passed them over her back, touching her shoulders and moving back down. She sighed against him, and Dean felt her relaxing further and further as he moved. She felt so good… so smooth, so soft and warm._

_She was his perfect counterpart - where his hands were rough and calloused, she was gentle to the touch. Where he was hard around the edges, she was pliant and clean…_

_His body was hardening at the sensation of having her just laying on him, and she felt it too, rotating her hips minutely, just enough. Dean’s hands fell down to her thighs where he grasped her as he moved lazily against her. He felt her responding exhale of breath against his neck and he smiled, moving his hands back up to her shoulders. Dean hugged her close to him, holding her against his chest, pressing his face into her hair. He was content to just lie like this forever._

_She let out another deep sigh…_

_“Buffy,” he murmured._

_“Hmm?” When he didn’t respond, Buffy lifted her head to look down at him, her face serene and comfortable. “What?”_

_A strand of hair fell from her messy ponytail and Dean caught it, pushing it behind her ear._

_“I love you,” he said softly._

_And he did. Christ on a cracker, he loved this woman. It had only taken him a few years to get the words out, but there was no doubt in his mind. He loved her. Just laying here, holding her, being with her, having her… Where before with other chicks the words had felt forced… uneven, weird or said to gain something… now, it was natural and easy. He loved her._

_Dean watched her eyes widened in surprise as she jerked her head back. “What?”_

_Dean frowned. “What do you mean, what?”_

_Buffy opened her mouth to respond before her mouth snapped shut. She stared at him for a second too long and Dean started feeling like an idiot - a big dumb foolish fucking idiot because really, who was he kidding? - when the brightest smile lit up her face, the toothy grin making him smile._

_"I love you too," she said breathlessly before laughing, almost incredulously. Warmth blossomed inside Dean, everything turning to liquid heat with a happiness he had never known. She grabbed his face, holding him as she pressed her lips to his, hugging him closer to her and Dean moaned in response, crushing her to his chest…_

*

Dean woke with a start, his body lurching in the front seat of the Impala. His skin had a life of its own, a thousand bugs crawling all over as the dream blazed against his brain, the words echoing in his head… He felt clammy and hot, his blood racing through his veins as the picture of her smiling down at him rolled through his mind’s eye. His heart tightened painfully as he shook himself awake.

His eyes stung as the words moved through his head at a slow and steady pace… he did love her. Or his other self did… or his crazy ass brain did… Whichever one of them did. The feeling of someone filling his chest with ice picks was overwhelming as he tried to push it down. He had never felt anything like that for a woman before… much less one that didn't even freaking exist…

Damn.

Clearing his throat and his chest, Dean readjusted himself and felt the bottle of bourbon still in its brown bag rolling away from where it had been sitting next to him and onto the floor. His body seemed to move in two different directions as he tried sitting up while reaching for the bottle. As a reward, his head slammed into the steering wheel.

“Christ,” he groaned, shutting his eyes, rubbing his forehead. The pain and the reality of where he was sank in fast and he felt the hard on from the memory of her sweet body on top of his deflating quickly as he slumped into the door. His head fall back and he let it loll on the back seat before peeling his eyelids open.

It felt like broken glass was being glued to his eyeballs. Glancing out the window, he saw he was still parked in front of the motel where he remembered coming back after the liquor store. Remembered turning the car off and then… nothing. He remembered thinking about how tiring it seemed to just push open his door when he must have passed out…

Awesome. Just awesome. At least he wasn’t driving. If his baby had gotten hurt because of crazy voodoo mind crap, he would have lost it.

Their room was dark and Dean frowned, wondering how long he had been asleep. He’d left his watch inside. Noticing he had drooled on the door, Dean grumbled as he wiped it away with his sleeve and turned back to grab the bottle.

Buffy was sitting next to him in the car.

“Jesus!” Dean yelped, his arms flying up to cover his face as he flew back in the seat, hitting his head on the window. Her ghostly body was leaning over, her face almost touching his, her eyes wide. She barely moved back an inch in reaction to his flailing, her eyes narrowing, her forehead scrunching a little more.

Compared to the other nights, he could see her. Like… _see her_. Tonight, she was barely transparent.

“Holy crap,” Dean whispered, closing his eyes, his lungs working overtime, drying his tongue and his throat. He waited a second and opened them again. She was still there. Rubbing his face roughly, Dean tried it again and she didn’t go anywhere. “Are you...”

“You can see me?” she asked and Dean jerked back again. Her voice sounded the same, only lighter, like it was losing to gravity and Dean stared at her, nodding dumbly. A glimpse of a smile decorated her lips and Dean felt a sharp stab right in his heart at the sight. She continued, “We saw that movie at the drive-in.”

… What?

A long moment passed before Buffy finally moved away from him. For the first time, he noticed she was wearing a drab-looking black dress. A dress someone would be buried in. Straightening in his seat and trying to not feel the cold that was crawling up his limbs, Dean eyed her like she was an atom bomb about to go off, waiting for her to disappear… or… hit him or… something ghost-related. Anything.

She was back to staring at him like she could read his thoughts, the way she had been looking at him the night she had been over his bed. It was seriously unnerving, and not just the fact that he was dreaming about this ghostly woman but the fact that she was focusing on him so intently.

And then for a split second, her image sputtered, almost like an engine trying to maintain its energy and for that split second, Dean felt the desperate urge to ask her to not go. He ignored it.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.

“We saw that movie at the drive-in,” she repeated. She glanced away, her eyes searching, her brow furrowed again. “We were supposed to be there.”

“Okay… That’s great… I guess.” Shifting his shoulders in his jacket, he wondered why it was suddenly getting so hot despite knowing she was probably giving off the ghostly cold vibes. He stared at her as she stared out the windshield. “Okay. So… you can talk.” Her eyes slid back to him in response. "What the hell is going on?"

“This isn’t my world,” she said vaguely, her voice fading. Dean reached out without thinking as she sputtered again but stopped himself from touching her. She stared at his hand and Dean pulled it back.

“Yeah, no shit,” he said dryly and the annoyed look she shot his way added another entire mattress of unnerviness to his already towering bed of weird. It simultaneously filled his chest with fond warmth because she had shot him that very look so many times… only… she hadn’t.

“I got pulled here,” was all she said.

“Pulled here? By who? How?”

“The relic.”

“The relic?” he repeated incredulously. She nodded, her image shifting in time again and Dean jumped in response before she realigned herself. He swallowed. “How… is this…? I’ve never met you. Isn’t the relic’s thing to use people you knew to kill you? 'Cause if this is your idea of a murder scene… you're a little off, sweetheart.” A wave of sadness swept over face and Dean felt that sadness inside, making the sarcasm on the tip of his tongue die. “I didn’t mean-“

“Here,” she replied. “We’ve never met here.”

Dean closed his eyes. “Okay, you gotta stop with this cryptic crap talk; I can’t follow a damn thing you’re saying.”

“I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough, it seems.”

Buffy’s look was sharp again and this time, Dean could see through her face; she was fading. He reached out before stopping himself once more.

“This is only a fraction…" Her lips stopped, like she was having trouble finding the words or trying to remember how to speak. "A fraction of me. I’m trying to guide them. Force them. I know where it is.”

“Where what is?”

“I’m… tied to it somehow; it’s making me… be here. I don’t know how. Why. But I am.”

“What?”

“My energy is in the dreams,” she said and Dean barely heard her, her words sounding like she was speaking to him from across the street instead of right next to him. Her image jerked again and he didn’t stop himself this time when he instinctively reached out for her.

When he grabbed her arm, she instantly solidified. Dean gasped, yanking his hand back like he’d just shoved his digits into a fire. Reverting back, Buffy stared down at her arm before looking back at him. Dean’s hand was tingling… and now he could see out the passenger window through her.

"Whoa," he breathed, feeling his mind scattering to the winds of insanity as he tried to keep up with what was happening. His voice trembled. He made a fist to get rid of the creepy crawly sensation he had gotten from touching her.

Buffy shook her head - not caring that she had just been _solid_ \- like she was trying to remember something important. “My energy is your dreams.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“We saw that movie at the drive-in,” she said again as she started disappearing further.

“Buffy, wait-”

"The drive-in, we were at the drive-in," she continued, her words turning desperate as she faded...

"Buffy?"

“Dean…”

And then she was gone.

The End… (for now…)

*

A/N: This one was more plot-driven than anything since the last few were pretty smut-heavy. :) And this will likely start a small trend where some fics are just about intimacy rather than pure smut… because sometimes that's better! But smut will ultimately win out. :P

Would love to hear what you think!


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